Twisted and Torn
by yellowrose
Summary: Set near the end of "Sticky Wicket,Newkirk", Newkirk finds himself in serious trouble when he is unable to return to camp which in turn could put the entire operation in jeopardy.
1. Chapter 1

A/N This is my first attempt at a Hogan's Heroes fiction so I hope it comes across all right! As always, I do not claim ownership of any of the characters from the show. Just borrowing them for a little while! Thanks and I hope you enjoy the story.

CHAPTER ONE

Corporal Peter Newkirk watched dismally as the last of the ten Stalag 6 escapees hurried past him. If he'd had half a brain in his head, he too would have been on his way to England, but no. He had to go help that poor "helpless" girl he'd met in Hammelburg. He'd worried about her after the police had picked him up in her apartment and after escaping from Schultz during his transfer to Stalag 6, Newkirk had decided to go check on her. If that wasn't idiotic enough, he'd brought her _back_ to Stalag 13, showing her everything in their entire operation! When it turned out she was a Gestapo informant, Newkirk had almost fainted. He had put every one of his friends in jeopardy and all for some stupid woman! Now that he had finished guiding the ten escaping prisoners to their next stop along the escape route, Newkirk had been ordered to turn himself in at the Stalag 13 front gate. He wasn't worried about what old Klink would do, but he did fear the wrath of Colonel Hogan and his mates, LeBeau, Kinch, and Carter. Well, there was nothing for it. He'd have to face the music sometime. He sighed and turned back towards camp. His one big concern was avoiding the numerous SS troops scouring the woods. If they captured him, there was no guarantee he would be returned to camp. Major Hochstetter, head of the local Gestapo, would love an opportunity to get his hands on one of Hogan's men. He was convinced there was something fishy going on and Hogan spent a lot of time preventing the Nazi from learning anything definitive.

The wind had picked up and with it, came fat drops of freezing sleet and rain. _Great_, thought Newkirk irritably, _as if this day wasn't bad enough. _It was at least five miles back to camp and it wasn't long before he was soaked through and shivering. As he trudged through the muddy woods, he cursed the war, his stupidity, the Nazis and anyone else he could think of. He was thoroughly miserable. His mind wandered to home, as it often did in times like these, and he smiled has he recalled the taste of ale and the warmth of his favorite pub in London. What he would give to be there right now!

"Halt!" Newkirk froze at the sound of the unexpected voice, then instinctively ducked. He cursed silently as the crack of a rifle sent a bullet whining past his head. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet and started to run. Another rifle shot sent a bolt of fire through his left upper arm but with the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Newkirk barely flinched. He knew he was in serious trouble and getting captured by the SS would definitely make it worse. He could hear several men thrashing and sliding through the icy forest behind him but Newkirk knew these woods like the back of his hand and was confident he could lose his pursuers.

As he fled, he became more aware of the warm flow of blood streaming down his arm. _Damn! _He was probably leaving a nice clear trail for any half-wit to follow. As he tried to stem the flow, he stumbled on the icy ground, losing his balance and suddenly found himself sliding down the slope into the adjacent ravine. With a stab of fear, he realized he was tumbling uncontrollably towards the swollen Fränkische Saale River. Desperately grabbing for the bare vegetation that lined the river bank, his hands could gain no purchase and a few moments later he gasped in shock as he plunged head first into the dark, freezing water.

For a moment he could do nothing. The water was so cold, he was immediately paralyzed and confused but he had been in tough scrapes before and his ingrained instinct for survival kicked in. His lungs burning, Newkirk struggled desperately for the surface. Coughing and spluttering, his head burst through the surface of the river. However, his moment of relief was short-lived when he heard hoarse shouts coming from the bluff above quickly followed by the crack of several rifles. Newkirk dove under the water letting the fierce current carry him along. Time and again he surfaced for a moment trying hard to avoid being dashed against rocks and submerged tree trunks but was only partially successful. He had no idea how long he'd been in the icy water or how far he'd traveled but it felt like days and his strength and resolve were flagging. It was getting harder and harder to keep his head above water and the desire to sleep was starting to overwhelm him. He might have surrendered then and there losing his battle to survive if he hadn't suddenly found himself slammed violently into a large partially submerged tree trunk bristling with the jagged stumps of broken branches. Newkirk cried out in pain as he felt several ribs crack and the point of one of the branches tear a deep gash in his side. Without conscious thought, he grabbed onto the protruding stumps holding on for dear life. Panting with exertion and pain, he slowly pulled himself along the length of the trunk through the churning water. The bank was perhaps ten or fifteen feet away. Surely he could make it that far!

Inch by agonizing inch, he crept closer to the bank. At least it was on the opposite side from where the SS men had been. It wasn't much but at this point, Newkirk was grateful for any bit of luck. At last he could feel the slippery edge of the semi-frozen river beneath his boots. Using the tangled ball of roots protruding from the edge of the bank as protection, Newkirk hauled himself onto the bank and collapsed, gasping for air. He now became fully aware of the throbbing in his arm and chest. In fact, his entire body felt bruised and battered from its numerous encounters with obstacles in the river. It was late afternoon now and darkness came early this time of year but it was still light enough for Newkirk to examine his wounds.

He gasped sharply as he moved his arm. He was relieved to find it wasn't broken but it was obvious the bullet remained lodged within his flesh, the blood still flowing freely. Newkirk shut his eyes for a moment as a wave of nausea and vertigo washed over him. He was shivering violently now and he knew full well he was in severe danger of shock and hypothermia. Using his pocket knife, he cut off a length of fabric from the bottom of his shirt and with teeth clenched against the explosion of fiery pain, clumsily tied the makeshift bandage around his arm. He awakened a few moments later, much chagrined to realize he had fainted. Slowly he sat up, again fighting the nausea but was relieved to see the bleeding has subsided a bit.

He took a few deep breaths and immediately regretted it as the pain from his ribs reminded him of his encounter with the tree. He now examined the gash in his side. It was four or five inches long and deep, blood welling up and pouring down his side. _I'm surprised I have this much blood to lose, _thought Newkirk wearily. He cut away more of his shirt and balling it up, pressed it against his wound stifling a deep groan as he did so. How was he ever going to make it back to camp in this condition?

He peered through the tangled barricade of roots and dirt behind him and was thankful to see that the bank on this side of the river was not so steep or rocky. He knew he couldn't stay where he was. He'd probably be dead by morning from shock and exposure. Even now, he was having a very difficult time staying awake. "But there's no one 'ere to look out for you but you, Peter, m'lad," muttered Newkirk to himself as he used his good arm to grab onto some of the roots and heave himself to his feet.

The world immediately began to spin causing Newkirk to double over and vomit a stomach full of river water. He clutched the roots even harder to keep from collapsing entirely knowing he might not find the strength to get back up. The pain in his ribs was so excruciating that for a few moments he was aware of nothing else.

_Damn, damn, damn_! How could such a simple mission go so wrong so quickly? As the agonizing throbbing in his chest eased slightly, Newkirk tried to assess his options. He couldn't let the Gestapo get him especially after what had happened with Marta. So, that ruled out turning himself into the SS. He was still closer to camp than he was Hammelburg, so there was no point in trying to get to town and connecting with the Underground. He tried to picture where he was. The area was mostly forest although there were some farms scattered here and there. He now considered this. If he could find one of these farms, perhaps he could spend the night there. The sleet was coming down even harder now and Newkirk desperately needed shelter. Blood loss and hypothermia were making it increasingly difficult to think clearly but he knew he couldn't walk the five miles back to camp. That left the farms. You never could be entirely sure which of the farmers were friendly to the Allies, most were too terrified of the Gestapo to be outwardly supportive, but even a barn would be a welcome refuge from the elements.

Making his decision, Newkirk carefully made his way up the uneven bank to the higher ground. He believed there was a farm just a couple of a miles east of where he reckoned he had climbed out of the river and he remembered they had a wonderfully large barn. Once he reached the bluff, Newkirk moaned softly. The wind was much worse above the protection of the river bank and the icy sleet pelted him mercilessly. Pulling his sodden jacket closer and trying to support both his injured arm and ribs, Newkirk slowly trudged onward.

It took almost three hours before Newkirk finally stumbled upon a farm. As time went on, he had become less and less cognizant of his surroundings. The numbing cold and blood loss were taking their toll and it was by sheer willpower alone that he kept pushing one foot ahead of the other. Somewhere, he had picked up a narrow track through the forest and as it was easier than trying to navigate through the tangled roots and vines in the woods, he kept to it hoping he wouldn't run into anyone dangerous. As he stumbled along, he realized he could no longer feel either his feet or his hands. In fact, he mused distantly, he couldn't feel much of anything. Probably _not_ a good sign. As luck would have it, the track led him to the barnyard of a small farmstead several miles from the river. Newkirk stumbled to a halt when he became aware of the twinkling lights before him. Part of him desperately wanted to go straight to the front door and knock but he knew that was much too dangerous, both for himself and for the inhabitants of the farm. If the Gestapo or SS came searching for him, he didn't want to risk either the farmers turning him in or them being punished for helping him. No, he would find a place to hide, spend the night, and hopefully avoid detection until he could make good his escape.

Swaying, he gave himself a shake and cautiously began to approach the farm. His teeth were chattering so violently, he was sure every Nazi within a mile must hear them. Newkirk sincerely hoped there weren't any dogs out tonight and gave a short prayer of thanks when he realized the barn was the closest building to him. Now he could avoid crossing the open spaces of the farmyard. Reaching out with his good hand, Newkirk touched the side of the old wooden structure. He couldn't see much of it in the dark but he knew if he followed the walls, he would eventually locate a door or window.

Slipping and sliding on the slushy ground the exhausted Englishman finally reached a door situated on south the side of the barn. His hands so numb he could barely grasp the handle, Newkirk was just able to pull the door open and stumble inside. The interior was pitch dark but he could hear the breathing and rustling of animals further in. Still cold, it was at least protected from the elements. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Newkirk was able to make out a ladder leading to the hayloft above. The animals were off to his left. He figured there must be two or three cows in nearby stalls. They seemed unperturbed by his presence. With a short sigh of relief, he carefully made his way to the ladder. Now he was faced with a dilemma. He would probably be safer up in the loft but could he make the climb up and then back down again? His throbbing arm felt as if it was on fire and his ribs screamed in pain with any unexpected movement. He glanced around again. There just didn't seem to be anyplace secure enough in the lower level. It wasn't a large barn to begin with and hiding places were severely limited. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he slowly and awkwardly began to ascend the ladder. He was forced to stop several times as dizziness threatened to overwhelm him, yet he knew he no choice but to go on.

By the time he reached the top, his face was dripping with sweat mixing with the moisture from the rain and sleet. Collapsing from the effort, Newkirk lay panting for several long moments at the top of the ladder trying to regain his strength. Finally, he lifted his aching head and looked around. Before him lay a large mound of hay with several stacks of bales beyond. His first inclination was to simply burrow into the loose hay and go to sleep but he reluctantly decided moving farther away from the ladder might be more prudent. Stifling a groan, he pushed himself slowly to his feet and staggered back to the stacks of bales. He saw there was just enough room between a couple of the stacks for him to ease himself through. At the end of the rows, he was surprised by the unexpected discovery of a space large enough for him to lie down. Wearily sinking to his knees into the pile of loose straw, he curled up fighting against the chills now wracking his body, pulled up some of the straw to cover himself and soon lapsed into blessed unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Colonel Robert Hogan, senior POW at Stalag 13, paced across the barracks in nervous agitation. "Where _is_ he!" he growled for the tenth time in the past hour. "I gave him a direct order to turn himself in hours ago!" Three other men sat at a nearby table absently playing cards although their attention was directed towards their troubled commander.

"Maybe he got lost," suggested Andrew Carter. "With this storm going on, maybe he just couldn't find his way back."

Hogan gave a snort of skeptical disbelief. "Newkirk knows those woods better than anybody, even a storm like this wouldn't make him lose his way."

"There are a lot of SS troops out there, Colonel," mused Kinch quietly. "Maybe one of the patrols picked him up."

Hogan slumped against one of the nearby bunks. "That's what I'm afraid of." Distractedly, he took a sip of his lukewarm coffee. "If Hochstetter or one of his men gets hold of Newkirk, I'm not sure what would happen. Even though we stopped that woman from showing him anything important, Hochstetter still has to be wondering just how she got into the camp, and if they capture Newkirk that will give the Gestapo a perfect opportunity to question him as long as they want. Hochstetter never even has to report they found him." He looked at his watch again. "It's been at least six hours since he left with those Stalag 6 men."

"You don't think he went with them, do you mon Colonel?" asked LeBeau, the cards in his hand long forgotten.

Hogan stood straight and began pacing again. "That's a good question, LeBeau. If he did, he's in serious trouble unless he some really good explanation." He now turned to Kinch. "Get on the radio to London. Tell them to let us know when the escaped prisoners get there and if Newkirk is one of them. Then contact the Underground and ask them to let us know if they hear word of any allied soldiers being picked up."

"Yes, sir," replied Kinch. He quickly rose to his feet and disappeared down the secret entrance into the escape tunnel below.

"I'm sure he's OK, sir," said Carter earnestly. "You know Newkirk! He probably just met some girl…" he trailed off uncomfortably as the others glared at him.

Hogan cursed again as he slammed down his tin mug. "It should have been so damn simple! Just get those Stalag 6 guys to their next stop and turn yourself in. That's what I told him! How hard is that to understand?" LeBeau and Carter exchanged glances. Despite the colonel's harsh words, they knew he was extremely worried about his missing man. There were too many things that could happen out there. Truth be told, they were also worried. Sure Newkirk could be impetuous and headstrong, but they didn't think he would disregard a direct order without good cause.

A moment later, the door opened and Sergeant Schultz lumbered in. "Colonel Hogan," he growled. "Where is Corporal Newkirk! So much trouble you give me! The Kommandant is very angry."

Hogan sighed irritably. "Schultz, I wish I knew. Believe me, I'm not any happier than Klink about this."

Schultz frowned in confusion. "You are worried?"

Hogan hesitated. "Yeah, Schultz, I am. He was supposed to turn himself in. That was hours ago."

Schultz stood silently glancing at the two men sitting at the table noting their dismal faces. "Colonel Hogan, you think Newkirk is in trouble?" He now mirrored their worried expressions.

"I don't know, Schultz. All I know is he isn't here and he's supposed to be." He shook his head. "Well, at least we don't have to try and hide the fact he's missing." He gave Schultz a wry smile. "Makes your life easier."

Schultz looked unhappy. Even though they were supposed to be enemies, he held no hard feelings towards these men and he didn't want anything to bad to happen to any of them. His shoulders slumped. "I am sorry, Colonel. Maybe he stopped in the Hofbrau for a beer?" He looked at them hopefully.

Hogan gave a small laugh. "Let's hope so, Schultz. Let's hope so.

It was the pain that finally released Newkirk from the tight fist of unconsciousness. He groaned and shivered violently. His arm throbbed even worse than before. Gradually, he became aware of a light shining on his face. His eyes snapped open and he started as he saw that a pale face hovered not far from his own. Instinctively he sat up and jerked backwards before realizing the person watching him was a young girl holding a lantern.

Newkirk blinked and swallowed, willing his pounding heart to calm down. "Blimey!" he burst out without thinking, "You nearly scared me to death!" He stopped abruptly, realizing he was speaking English and silently cursed himself for his thoughtlessness.

"You are English," said the girl watching him with interest. She did not seem surprised to see him. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes as she studied him more closely. "And you are hurt."

Newkirk was speechless. He now switched to German to avoid any confusion. "Who are you?"

The girl, who appeared to be no more than ten, frowned doubtfully. "I'm not sure I should tell you. It could be dangerous." She paused as if in thought. "But you should call me something, so you can call me Millie." She smiled, lighting up her thin face. "What should I call you?"

Newkirk smiled weakly back. "You can call me Peter." Now he looked worried. "You better get out of here, love," he said. "It would be better if you never saw me."

Millie nodded wisely. "Ja, I know. We used to hide other lost men until the Gestapo came and took my father and brother. Now Mama will not help anyone. She is scared."

Newkirk stared at the girl, dumbfounded by her acceptance of these events in her life. "Well, maybe you better go, dear. I plan to leave as soon as it gets dark again. I don't want to get anyone in trouble."

Millie nodded again. "I will not tell Mama or Dieter, he's my brother, that you are here. It would be better if they did not know. But, Herr Peter, I will try and bring you some food and water." She stepped closer holding the lantern higher to examine his arm and shook her head sadly. "Maybe some bandages. I am sorry I am not a doctor. It looks painful."

Who _was_ this little girl? Newkirk wondered in amazement as he watched her disappear through the bales of hay. She seemed to take his presence in stride as if it were the most normal event in the world. It bothered him to think she had lost her father and brother because of their assisting other escaping allied soldiers. He definitely did not want to be the cause of any further pain to her family.

Now that she was gone, he became aware of his condition once more. He felt horrible. After what he had experienced yesterday and a night in a cold barn, his body was so stiff and sore he could barely move. He was desperately thirsty and wracked by violent chills. He feared his arm was becoming infected. Painfully, he stifled a cough that threatened to erupt, causing his ribs to scream in agony. Newkirk closed his eyes and let the darkness envelope him within its embrace once more.

" Peter! Herr Peter, wake up!" Newkirk slowly opened his eyes to find Millie peering down at him in great concern. She placed her small hand upon his brow. "You are very hot," she said worriedly.

Newkirk tried to smile but it became a grimace of pain as he tried to sit up. "Oh, don't worry 'bout me, love," he said stoutly, "I'm fine. Bit o' food and water and I'll be right as rain!" He leaned back against the hay bales with a sigh then smiled gently when he realized she had covered him with a thick, wool horse blanket.

Millie looked at him doubtfully then turned to the items beside her. First, she pulled out a basket and set it beside Newkirk. "There is bread, cheese and some apples in there," she said quietly. She next handed him a stoppered bottle. "Here is some water."

Awkwardly, Newkirk picked up the bottle, removed the stopper and almost frantically began gulping down the water. He was severely dehydrated from loss of blood and was desperate for something to drink. Millie squatted down next to him and placed a second bottle next to Newkirk's leg watching him anxiously. With a slight gasp, Newkirk set down the empty bottle and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he smiled at Millie as he wiped his mouth. "Thank you, love, I needed that!"

"You are welcome, Herr Peter." She dug around in the basket and brought out a roll of bandages. "If you remove your jacket, I can bandage you arm," she said shyly. "I have done this before! When other wounded men came through."

Newkirk looked at her doubtfully but knew the arm needed tending to and he didn't think he could do it himself. With a sigh, he nodded. With her help, he was able to remove his makeshift bandage and bloodstained jacket although several times he had to bite back cries of pain. Chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip, Millie studied the wound. She pulled out a cloth from her basket and soaked it with water from the second bottle. The fabric of Newkirk's shirtsleeve had adhered to the wound and as gently as she could, Millie tried to work it free.

"Stop!" hissed Newkirk sharply through gritted teeth. The pain had nearly overcome him and blood had begun to flow again.

"Oh dear," cried Millie in shocked dismay jerking her hands away. "I am so sorry, Herr Peter! I will leave it alone. Maybe you can find a doctor to help you." She looked like she might cry.

"Oh, that's all right, love," Newkirk gasped, wiping the sweat from his pale face. He gave her a weak grin. "But maybe it would best if you just bandage it up so at least the bleedin' will stop." She nodded unhappily and carefully wrapped the injured arm. When she was done, Newkirk examined her tidy handiwork and beamed at her. "Me ol' mum couldn't 'ave done better! You're a right good nurse, fraulein!"

Millie looked down but blushed with pleasure then carefully helped him put his jacked back on. "I must go now," she said softly, "and milk the cows but I will be back later when it is safe." Again, a smile lit up her thin, pale face as she turned and moved silently away.

Newkirk watched her disappear through the bales of hay as early morning light seeped through the cracks in the wall of the barn. Newkirk rummaged through the basket and pulled out a hunk of dark bread. He stared at it and with a sigh took a bite. It tasted like sawdust but he had no appetite and was only eating to try and regain some of his flagging strength. He managed to choke down some of the cheese as well and quickly drained the second bottle of water. He groaned slightly as he felt his stomach rebel. He swallowed, fighting to keep his meager meal down. Finally, he leaned back once more and shuddered. Even with the blanket, he was freezing, his damp clothes clammy against his skin. His left arm was throbbing worse than ever. It felt hot despite his chill. Newkirk frowned in worry. He knew he was running a serious risk of infection or gangrene with that bullet still lodged in his arm. He needed to get back to camp as soon as possible or he could lose the arm or worse. With a sigh, Newkirk settled down to sleep once more.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Although I am fully aware that the Gestapo and the SS were two entirely different entities, I followed in the tradition of the show having the Gestapo agents wearing SS uniforms.

CHAPTER 3

Millie scampered down the ladder to the main floor of the barn. It had been so long since they had helped an allied soldier. Papa had helped several before the Gestapo had taken him and Franz away. Millie hated the Nazis and had been proud to help any way she could and now with Papa gone, she felt it was her responsibility to help this Englishman even if she knew Mama would be furious with her. Well, he said he would be gone by tonight so Mama would never know. She just hoped he wouldn't get too sick to move.

Millie now started her chores, picking up the bucket to milk the large auburn cow standing peacefully nearby chewing her cud. Millie enjoyed the soothing rhythm of milking and as she leaned her head against the cow's warm side, she inhaled deeply the familiar earthy odor of the barn. When she had finished, she turned to find her thirteen year old brother, Dieter, watching her through narrowed eyes, arms crossed over his thin chest. "What is going on, Amilia?" he asked sharply. "I saw you leave early with a basket."

Millie hesitated. She knew Dieter felt as her mother when it came to helping fugitives from the Nazis. He was terrified that they would get caught and "disappear" like Papa and Franz. "Nothing, Dieter," she said evasively. "Just go do your chores. There is nothing going on."

Dieter continued to stare at her. In the six months since Papa and their older brother had disappeared, Millie taken charge of more and more of the daily business of running the farm as their mother seemed to retreat within herself. Dieter also kept to himself but did his chores without complaint. It was Millie who made sure everything was taken care of. But Dietrich knew his younger sister all too well. She was fearless, yes, but could be very stubborn and reckless. Suddenly, his attention was drawn upward by a soft thump above his head. His eyes widened as he turned to confront his sister. "Who is up there!" he demanded grabbing her arm.

Irritably, she pulled away. "No one!" she snapped. "Leave me alone!"

Dieter opened his mouth to say more when the sound of a vehicle approaching the farm distracted him. He and his sister exchanged alarmed glances then sprinted to the barn door and peered out. Millie inhaled sharply as she saw the truck lumbering up the rutted track to their farm. She could pick out the menacing black uniforms of two SS soldiers in the front seat. Unconsciously she glanced upward. She grabbed her brother and gave him a push through the door. "Go warn Mama! I'll be right there!"

Dieter gave her an anxious look then ran towards the house. Millie immediately clambered back up the ladder and threaded her way through the hay. "Herr Peter!" she gasped, "The Gestapo is here!" Newkirk blinked at her in confusion as the words took some time to penetrate his feverish brain.

"Bloody 'ell," he whispered now looking around for someplace safer to hide. Without a word, Millie began to push hay bales closer to him, enclosing him in a small space within. Piling them as high as she could with Newkirk's limited assistance, she soon had him completely hidden. She knew it wouldn't hold up to close scrutiny, but she would pray for luck. She turned and scurried back down to the lower level. Picking up her bucket of milk, she took a deep breath and forced herself to walk calmly out into the farm yard.

Millie's mouth went dry as the truck rumbled to a halt and soldiers poured out, guns held at the ready. Her mother and Dieter were standing by the farmhouse door with pale faces. Millie hurried over to stand by her mother. An officer strode up to them. "Frau Zimmer," he barked, "I am Captain Reinhardt. I am searching for an escaped British prisoner. We will search your farm."

"Sir," cried Millie's mother anxiously, "There are no escaped prisoners here, please!"

Reinhardt glared at her. He was fully aware of what had happened to her husband and son. "We shall see. For your sake, Madame, I hope you are correct."

Millie set her bucket of milk inside the doorway, warily watching the soldier stationed nearby. The others had fanned out – some were inside the house and others were heading towards the barn and outbuildings. Millie's mother placed her hands protectively across her children's shoulders drawing them closer. Millie could feel her trembling but Millie was more angry than scared. If she died helping an Allied soldier escape then she would have done her part to free Germany from the tyranny of the Nazis. She might only be eleven but she knew right from wrong. Dieter stood silently, his jaw clenched in terror. All they could do now was wait.

Newkirk huddled silently in his improvised cell, praying that the Nazis wouldn't find him. He was desperately worried about Millie and her family. They would suffer far more for hiding him than he would for escaping. He listened intently to the ominous clomp of jackboots echoing through the barn. The men were searching very thoroughly. But it wasn't until he heard them ascending the ladder that Newkirk broke out into a nervous sweat. He could hear the men talking quietly to each other as they searched the hayloft. At first, he thought they might simply move amongst the bales but once he realized they were actually moving them, he knew he was in serious trouble.

It only took them ten minutes before they finally uncovered his hiding spot. With a grunt of triumph, one of the soldiers grabbed Newkirk by his good arm and yanked him to his feet, unmoved by the Englishman's cry of pain."Watch it, you, son of a…." his words were cut off by another cry of agony as he was shoved forward to the ladder. One soldier waited at the bottom as Newkirk made his way painfully down, breathing heavily as he tried not to faint. He staggered and would had fallen had not the soldier grabbed onto him. A moment later, he was roughly dragged outside and thrown to the ground. He lay groaning in the freezing mud as stars danced across his vision.

Reinhardt looked down at the fallen man in satisfaction. Finally. They had searched four farms before this one and he had begun to worry he'd lost the Englander for good. He looked to the two soldiers standing on either side of the prisoner. His other men surrounded the family. "Stand him up," the captain ordered coldly. One man shouldered his rifle and hauled Newkirk to his feet once more. Newkirk stood unsteadily fighting to keep his balance. He looked over and his heart dropped as his eyes met those of little Millie, standing bravely beside her mother and brother, both of whom were white with shock and despair.

"Well Corporal Newkirk," smirked Captain Reinhardt approaching the injured man. "You thought you could get away from us, eh? It is too bad you chose this farm to hide." He glanced over at the Zimmer family. "Did you know that Herr Zimmer and his son were arrested for hiding escaped prisoners? Now what will we do with the rest of the family? Seems they have taken up the same hobby."

"No!" cried Newkirk frantically, staring at Reinhardt with horror and hatred. "They didn't even know I was here! Leave them out o' this!"

Reinhardt tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I would like to, Corporal. Oh ja, I would like very much to let this poor woman and her children go but I am not sure that is possible. What sort of example would that be setting for others? But I might consider allowing them to go free if you are willing to perhaps cooperate?"

Newkirk frowned in apprehension. "What do you mean, 'cooperate'?"

Reinhardt stepped closer. "Perhaps you would like to explain how you got our informant, Gretel, into Stalag 13? She was unable to show Major Hochstetter all the things she claimed she saw, but she had to have gotten into the camp somehow. I want you to tell me how this was done."

Newkirk licked his lips as he looked at the family standing before him. Millie looked defiant, and he had to inwardly smile at the child's bravery. He couldn't let anything happen to them. "There was an escape tunnel," he finally replied slowly. "We'd been workin' on it for a long time getting ready to make a break. But after I stupidly brought Gretel in, I collapsed it on me way out."

"Why?" snapped Reinhardt suspiciously, "What else was down there?"

"Nothin'," said Newkirk shaking his head.

"_Don't lie to me_!" Reinhardt's hand shot forward and backhanded Newkirk across the face so viciously, it would have sent the Englishman sprawling to the ground had not the guard been holding him up.

Newkirk could taste blood as he waited for his head to stop spinning. How he hated this man. He opened his eyes and glared angrily at Reinhardt. "I _told_ you, Captain," he spat, "There is nothin' else goin' on! I collapsed the tunnel so you Krauts wouldn't find it. I'd rather one of us destroyed it than you lot. We put a lot o' time and effort into that tunnel!"

Reinhardt's eyes narrowed dangerously as he studied the Englander's bloodied face. He didn't believe him for an instant. Too many suspicious things had occurred since Hogan's arrival at Stalag 13 and the Gestapo was convinced the American was at the center of it. All the Gestapo needed was for one of his men to talk and Hochstetter would be very pleased with whoever got him the information. For the first time, the German noticed Newkirk's blood-soaked sleeve and smiled. Never breaking eye contact, he casually reached out and grabbing the injured arm, squeezed hard. Newkirk's eyes went wide as he screamed in agony and collapsed to his knees.

"No!" shouted Millie furiously and picking up a nearby rock, hurled it at the officer hitting him in the side of the head. Cursing angrily, his hand clutching his bleeding head, Reinhardt whirled pulling his Luger from its holster and without hesitation shot the young girl, a crimson rose blossoming across the front of her thin coat. For a frozen instant, no one made a sound then Frau Zimmer screamed in horror and flung herself onto her dying daughter with Dieter by her side.

Eyes wide, Newkirk stood dumbfounded in shock. What had he done! Reinhardt turned back to him, his expression unreadable. "Now Corporal, what do you want to tell me about Colonel Hogan and Stalag 13? I know there is something going on there. You, and you alone, can save Frau Zimmer and her son, but only if you tell me what I want to know."

Newkirk's breath came in short, agonized gasps as he turned to look at the woman and her son. He felt a cold chill run down his spine as he saw the intense hatred in Dieter's gaze. Frau Zimmer, clutching her daughter's body also looked up and pointed at him. "_You!_" she screeched, tears running down her face, "This is all _your_ fault! Why did you have to come here! _You _killed her!" Newkirk felt tears in his own eyes as the distraught woman bent over her daughter once more, great sobs of heartrending grief shaking her slight frame.

He turned back to find Reinhardt smirking down at him. "So, Corporal? What will it be?"

Never in all of his life had Newkirk ever faced such a dilemma. If he revealed the secrets of Stalag 13, he would have betrayed all of his mates and condemned them to torture and probably death. It would also mean many other escaped prisoners would never make it home, not to mention the end to their sabotage efforts. Who knew how that might affect the length of the war? Many more people would die unnecessarily. But on the other hand, if he didn't tell Reinhardt what he wanted to know, the heartless bastard would kill an innocent woman and boy. He shook his head in misery and resignation. He was a soldier, and he knew his duty, but he would live with the consequences of his actions for the rest of his life.

"There is nothin' to tell, Captain," choked Newkirk. "Nothin' at all." He closed his eyes, unwilling to meet those of the mother and son. He had just signed their death warrants.

He could hear Reinhardt's breathing intensify as his anger rose. "You will regret this, Corporal," he hissed and turned away. "Burn the farm!" he ordered curtly. "But first, lock Frau Zimmer and her son in the tool shed and bolt the door. Make sure they cannot escape."

"No!" cried Newkirk eyes wide in panic, "Leave them alone!" The soldiers ignored him as they grabbed the woman and boy and dragged them roughly across the farmyard and hurled them into the small shed adjacent to the barn. He could hear them screaming and banging on the door begging for mercy as the soldiers bolted the entry shut. His own wounds forgotten, Newkirk struggled to rise to his feet. If only he could get to them and open the door! However his efforts were in vain as the large guard behind him simply grabbed his right arm, holding Newkirk firmly in place. With growing dread, the Englishman watched as the soldiers doused the small building with kerosene, and proceeded to set it alight. His heart shattered as he listened to the two tortured innocents wailing in anguish as the building burned around them. Newkirk sagged in the powerful grip of the guard, the acrid smell of the smoke and burning flesh causing his gorge to rise. To him, it seemed an eternity but in reality, it was only minutes before the banging and screams died away as the fiery inferno consumed the mother and her only remaining child. Newkirk buried his face in his hands; their final moments of agony would be forever etched on his soul.

Reinhardt stared in disgusted irritation at the prisoner. He had been _so_ certain that this would break the man and at last the Gestapo would learn the secrets of Stalag 13. The captain sighed in frustration. It was obvious to him that if murdering three people, including two children, in front of Newkirk hadn't been enough to force the Englander to talk, Reinhardt highly doubted mere physical torture would be very effective. He shook his head and cursed softly. Well, there was nothing for it. He had his duty to perform and if there was any chance of getting some information out of the prisoner it was worth the effort. So they would question Newkirk for another day or so at Gestapo headquarters. He didn't think the Englander would hold up much beyond that by the looks of him. Barking a command, Reinhardt ordered his men to load the prisoner into the truck and head out leaving the farm to burn. He strode past the body of the young girl without a glance.

Newkirk reached out towards Millie as the guard dragged him past. "I am so sorry, Millie," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Can you ever forgive me?"

It took them over an hour to reach Gestapo headquarters. Every bump the truck hit as it jounced along sent a stab of pain through Newkirk's arm and ribs. He gritted his teeth against the agony, refusing to give the Nazis the satisfaction of hearing him groan. He leaned against the side of the truck canopy, closing his eyes trying hard not to think about what had happened at the farm, but that led him to considering what his immediate future held, and that was no better.

When they rumbled to a stop, Newkirk gazed numbly at the imposing, stone edifice of Gestapo headquarters. He could feel the color draining from his face, knowing inside was nothing but more suffering and pain yet it was absolutely imperative that he reveal nothing about the secret operation at Stalag 13. He feared that in his current, depleted condition he wouldn't be up to the ordeal.

"Raus!" snarled one of the guards shoving Newkirk towards the opening at the back of the truck. Newkirk hissed in pain but managed to stumble forward and climbed awkwardly out the back. He blinked in the bright sunlight. The guard behind him grunted in annoyance and again gave Newkirk a rough shove urging him forward.

"Hey, watch it, Fritz!" snapped Newkirk just managing to keep his footing. He moved forward, reluctantly, towards the massive, iron-clad doors.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry for the delay. I'm out of town right now so updates may be longer than I'd hoped but they will come! Thanks to all of your for reading my story and for your encouraging reviews!

**Chapter 4**

Hogan sat moodily by the small window in his quarters watching the rain and sleet. It was a horrible day and freezing in the barracks. His thoughts continued to be consumed by his missing man. Although the escaped Stalag 6 men had yet to reach England, one of the Underground contacts had reported that only ten men had come through leading Hogan to assume Newkirk had not gone on with them. He wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse. Hogan sighed wearily as he considered his next move. He had no idea where to even start looking. So far, there was no word that he had been picked up so he could be anywhere.

A knock at his door caused him to turn. "Sir!" said Carter excitedly as he pushed open the door, "A truck just came in through the front gate!"

Hogan quickly followed the sergeant to the door of the barracks where the others were watching attentively. Sure enough, there was a truck parked in front of Klink's headquarters and several soldiers were piling out. Hogan frowned as he noticed a Gestapo man exiting from the passenger side and climbing the steps to Klink's office.

"It's Newkirk!" Hogan turned at the sound of LeBeau's voice and saw the Englishman climb slowly out of the back of the truck. Newkirk swayed uncertainly for a moment before gaining his balance. He was facing away from the barracks so Hogan was unable to read the Englishman's face. Was he injured? Newkirk's hands were cuffed and he stood oddly hunched yet he seemed able to walk into the building without assistance. Hogan sighed in relief. Obviously Newkirk was all right.

"Turn on the coffeepot, Kinch," said Hogan moving to the table. "I want to hear what Reinhardt has to say." A moment later the men were gathered around the receiver listening to the men in Klink's office.

"Where did you find him, Captain Reinhardt?" Klink was saying both fear and relief in his voice.

"We found him hiding at a farm keeping company with a couple of frauleins," Reinhardt laughed to himself. Although there had indeed been females at the farm, Newkirk couldn't have been said to been keeping company with either of them.

Hogan scowled irritably at this. _Damn that stupid Englishman_! Was it too much to ask for Newkirk to carry out just _one_ mission without bringing some girl into the picture and screwing up everything! The other three exchanged knowing glances. Newkirk had the reputation of a ladies' man but this time, he had gone too far. Hogan stood abruptly; his face dark. "I'm heading over there," he growled heading for the door.

Hogan entered the office unannounced. Newkirk stood stiffly before the Kommandant's desk like a recalcitrant schoolboy, barely glancing at his commanding officer. Hogan frowned at the Englishman's pale, battered faced but then turned to face Klink and Reinhardt. "Hogan!" snapped Klink irritably, "_What_ are you doing here?"

"Corporal Newkirk is one of my men, Kommandant," replied Hogan evenly, "And I want to make sure he's all right although looking at his face, I have to wonder."

"Colonel Hogan," said Reinhardt swaggering forward, "Your man was an escaped prisoner. Sometimes force is required. We brought him back alive, what more do you want?" He paused and smiled knowingly. "Perhaps he would have gotten away if he hadn't been distracted by a sweet little fraulein, eh Corporal?"

Hogan glanced again at Newkirk and felt a chill as he saw the look of pure hatred on the man's haggard face. "Newkirk?" he said softly, "Are you all right?"

"I'm _fine_, Colonel," snarled Newkirk through gritted teeth, never looking away from Reinhardt. "Just peachy." Hogan wasn't so sure. Shivering, Newkirk was covered with mud and soaking wet. His uneven breathing sounded harsh to Hogan's ears. He looked as if he was barely keeping himself together.

"Are you sure?"

Newkirk rounded on him, his face now flushed with fury. "I'm _fine_, sir!Just let Klink give me my bloody punishment and be done with it!"

Hogan blinked, taken aback by Newkirk's unexpected wrath. Klink was also nonplussed by Newkirk's reaction but Reinhardt just laughed.

"Uh," Klink hesitated glancing at both Hogan and the Gestapo man before finally continuing. Reinhardt wore an unnerving grin of satisfaction. Hogan looked as confused as he felt. "Sixty days in the cooler. Schultz, take him away!"

Hogan continued to study Newkirk as Schultz cautiously escorted him from Klink's office. He'd give Newkirk some time to cool off, then he would find out what was going on.

Without a backwards look to make sure Schultz was following, Newkirk stalked across the compound towards the cooler. His anger burned so hot, it was giving him the energy he needed to keep going. He knew he was running on borrowed time and would undoubtedly crash when finally left alone but for the moment, he was able to ignore his pain. Over and over Newkirk vowed he would kill that son of a bitch, Reinhardt, but right now, he wouldn't give the Nazi bastard the satisfaction of seeing him falter as he made his way to the cooler.

Schultz watched Newkirk uneasily as he opened the cell door. The Englander did not look well and Schultz was puzzled by the man's fury. Wisely, he remained silent as Newkirk pushed past him into the small dismal cell and began to pace. He was breathing harshly and shaking. With a sigh, the large sergeant quietly closed the door and locked it. He was off duty now and had a twenty four hour pass. Newkirk would be someone else's responsibility for awhile.

Once Schultz had locked the door, Newkirk felt his body sag with exhaustion and pain. He knew he was safe now, away from the sadistic hands of the Gestapo and no one would hurt him further. The agony he had managed to keep at bay by the combined force of shock , fear and anger was resurging with renewed vigor. His arm now throbbed worse than ever and felt tight within the confines of his sleeve. _Swollen up no doubt_, thought Newkirk distantly. _Probably infected, maybe even gangrenous_. He didn't care. A slow, painful death was what he deserved for what he'd done. The wound in his side also pained him as did his ribs as well along with all the new bruises and contusions generously provided Reinhardt and Co. But what did mere physical pain matter? The damage to his soul was much harder to endure.

Newkirk sank onto the wooden bunk that stood against the wall and buried his face in his hands. Images of Millie and her family's death played over and over in his head. Those images had been the only thing that had kept him going while being tortured by Reinhardt and his goons. Every time he felt himself start to weaken he'd remember the bravery of that little girl. She'd given her life for him and he'd be damned if he'd let her sacrifice be in vain. For the first time, he could feel tears burning the back of his eyes. He'd tried so hard to bottle them up but now, he allowed himself to finally grieve for the Zimmer family.

How long he silently sobbed, he had no idea but it seemed an eternity. When he had no tears left, he sat empty and unmoving for a very long time as he considered his future. He vaguely remembered Hogan coming in while he was in Klink's office. For a moment, he wondered what the colonel and the others must be thinking. They were probably furious with him. He gave a bitter laugh as he recalled Reinhardt's comments about frauleins. Hogan would naturally interpret that to mean exactly what Reinhardt wanted him to, especially after the whole Gretel affair. Hogan would assume Newkirk had been wiling away the past few days with a couple of girls. They all would and Newkirk couldn't blame them. He'd be lucky if the colonel didn't skin him alive. Newkirk sighed painfully, now fully drained. Every inch of his body hurt and he felt dead inside. Slowly and awkwardly, Newkirk lowered himself onto the bunk, pulled the thin blanket over himself and closed his eyes surrendering to his utter exhaustion.

Frowning, Hogan stood on the porch of Klink's office and watched Newkirk stiffly stride across the compound. He couldn't figure it. Why was the man so furious? Obviously something had happened but at least Newkirk had come back relatively unscathed so that was a good thing. He thought about Reinhardt's words about Newkirk and the girls and he felt own anger rising one again. Would Newkirk _ever_ learn! Hogan suddenly shivered in the biting wind and hunching into his jacket against the sleet and rain, he hurried back to Barracks 2.

The other men waited impatiently as their commander shook the ice from his coat. "Well, mon colonel, is Newkirk all right?" asked LeBeau unable to wait any longer.

Hogan shrugged, shaking the moisture from his jacket. "I'm not sure. He looked beat up but seemed to moving under his own steam so I don't think he was hurt too badly. But I suspect Reinhardt must have done something because I've never seen Newkirk so angry. He nearly bit my head off when I asked him if he was OK!"

"That doesn't sound like Newkirk," mused Kinch thoughtfully. "Yeah, he can be a bit of a hot head but for him to go after you, something must have really set him off."

Hogan wandered over to the coffee simmering on the stove. "Well, I'll give him a day or two then go over through the tunnel and see how he's doing."

"Uh, Colonel," said Carter uncomfortably, "Remember when I was testing one of those new detonators a couple of days ago, it collapsed part of the tunnel to the cooler. Right now, you can't get through and it will probably take a couple more days to finish clearing it."

Hogan sighed and shook his head irritably. "I guess that'll just give Newkirk that much more time to simmer down. But, I want the tunnel cleared as soon as possible. I'd really like to find out exactly what he's been doing for the past few days. And just who he's been doing it with. "


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This will probably be the last update for the next week or so as I will be traveling but figured I'd get this up while I had a chance. I hope it makes sense!

**CHAPTER 5**

"Noooo!" Newkirk sat straight up, momentarily oblivious to his pain. Soaked in sweat and gasping for air, the corporal slumped sideways against the cell wall. _Millie. _He saw her small, solemn face as she studied him for the first time. What a fearless little thing she'd been. But in his mind's eye, he now saw her lying lifeless on the ground, covered in blood and her blue eyes staring sightlessly towards the sky. He could hear the screams of her mother and brother as they were consumed by the blazing inferno while the Gestapo men laughed. He sat shaking, his stomach roiling. He'd eaten almost nothing in the past three or four days; not since the small meal Millie had brought to him but he had no appetite. Thirst, however consumed him. He glanced towards the door of his cell and saw a small metal pitcher. Groggily, and wincing in pain, he staggered to the door and picked it up. It was full of freezing water. Greedily, he gulped it down trying desperately to replenish his depleted fluids. When he had emptied the pitcher he simply dropped the pitcher ignoring the echoing clang on the cement floor as he lurched back towards his bunk and collapsed once more.

He couldn't sleep for more than a few moments at a time. No, the memories of what he had witnessed simply would not allow it. He found he was having more and more difficulty maintaining his hold on reality and the crushing guilt he felt was unbearable. If had obeyed Colonel Hogan to begin with and not gone back to Hammelburg and Gretel none of this would have happened. _What a bloody fool he'd been_.

He wasn't even sure how long he'd been in the cooler. Hours? Days? It was all a blur. He wondered absently why Colonel Hogan hadn't made an appearance even if it was just to ream him out. Obviously, the team had must have their fill of him and this was their way of telling him. He knew Hogan could get him out of the cooler if he really wanted to but the fact the guvnor hadn't even shown up to find out what had happened spoke volumes. He had screwed up once too many times and they were washing their hands of him and truth be told, Newkirk couldn't blame them. This time he had really screwed up beyond repair.

He shivered violently, his teeth chattering. His head and arm throbbed. In fact, his whole body ached. He was having trouble concentrating and the gray walls of his frigid cell faded in and out. He tried to pull the threadbare blanket closer around him to ward off the chill with little success. He fought hard but soon he succumbed to his body's demand for sleep and he let himself drift off into oblivion.

Newkirk remembered little of what happened after that. Sometimes he was aware of where he was and other times, he was back in the barnyard or his Gestapo cell or even Barracks 2. He wanted to find Millie; tell her how sorry he was but she was nowhere to be found. Someone spoke to him once. He remembered that. He had been so sure it was that bastard Reinhardt that he'd tried to kill him but whoever it had been got away. Newkirk swore he'd be ready next time. Next time…

Hogan climbed up from the escape tunnel, walked over to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee. He frowned briefly at its bitter taste but gulped it down anyway. He had just been down to check on the progress of the tunnel excavation. Unfortunately, another section had collapsed. Obviously, Carter's explosion had weakened the entire tunnel. He sighed. Newkirk had been in the cooler two days now and Hogan was getting impatient to talk to him. He _could_ request an interview with Newkirk from Klink but he wanted plenty of time and privacy to interrogate Newkirk about his actions since he'd left through the escape tunnel that last time and he wouldn't get that with several guards around. He still couldn't believe Newkirk had so blatantly disobeyed a direct order especially when he knew he was already in deep trouble after the whole Gretel affair. Yet, he hadn't come back and Reinhardt found him hiding at some farm with a couple of women. Now, _that_ sounded like something Newkirk would pull but still, he just didn't think Newkirk would have pushed things that far. Something else must have happened and Hogan wanted to find out what.

He sighed again and poured another cup of coffee. Well, with any luck, the tunnel would be cleared in another day or two and it's not like Newkirk was going anywhere. He'd just have to wait a little longer to get those answers.

Sergeant Schultz hurried across the compound from the cooler towards Kommandant Klink's office. He was very worried. He had just returned from his leave and had been informed by Corporal Braun that all was not well with the prisoner in the cooler.

"What is wrong with him?" asked Schultz suspiciously. He was quite familiar with Newkirk's tricks and he wasn't interested in playing any games.

Braun looked uncomfortable. "He has not eaten since he arrived," he reported, "And I am not sure he has slept. Several times, I heard him cry out in the night and when I went to check he seemed to be awake but I do not think he recognized me. Once he even tried to attack me. He won't talk to me, but seems ill."

Schultz sighed as he heaved his considerable bulk from his chair and started out towards the cooler. Private Fleischer, the guard on duty, looked up as Schultz entered. He looked relieved to see the sergeant. "How is the prisoner?" asked Schultz as he moved toward the cell door.

"He still has not eaten anything, Sergeant," Fleischer replied. "I think he's sick. He keeps talking to some girl called 'Millie'." Schultz nodded and looked in through the small window in the door. He could see Newkirk lying still on the bunk. Schultz looked uncertain for a moment then unlocked the door and went in.

Newkirk did not move as Schultz approached. "Newkirk?" Schultz gave Newkirk's shoulder a small shake. Still no response.

Fleischer stood nearby. "Is he dead?" Schultz's eyes went wide in alarm. Surely not! Quickly he turned the Englander over and was relieved to hear the man moan. Schultz examined Newkirk more closely now and was startled by the man's condition. His face was gray and haggard, burning with fever and was breathing with difficulty.

"Sergeant Schultz, I think he has been shot!" exclaimed Fleischer pointing to the bullet hole visible in the left sleeve.

Schultz swore softly as he realized that much of the "dirt" on Newkirk's sleeve wasn't mud at all, but dried blood. Quickly, he pulled out his knife and clumsily cut away the sleeves of Newkirk's jacket and sweater. He grunted in disgust at the inflamed, suppurating wound. With deep red streaks running up and down from the bullet hole, Newkirk's arm seemed swollen to twice it's normal size and a foul odor emanated from the infection. The two Germans exchanged worried glances. "I had better go inform the Kommandant at once," said Schultz pushing himself to his feet. "You stay here with the prisoner."

So now, he was on his way with the bad news. As he entered Klink's office, the harried officer looked up in irritation from the pile of papers stacked before him. "What is it, Schultz?" he growled, "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"I am sorry, Herr Kommandant," replied Schultz a little breathlessly, "But I felt I must inform you that the prisoner, Corporal Newkirk, has been shot and is very ill."

"What!" Klink leapt to his feet. "You shot him! When? Why? Explain yourself!"

"Herr Kommandant, please! _We_ did not shoot him! I think it must have been the Gestapo. The wound looks several days old and very bad. I was told the prisoner has not eaten since he was put in the cooler and seemed ill. When I went to check on him, I found the bullet hole in his sleeve and saw he had been wounded."

Klink sat down slowly as he digested this information. Why hadn't anyone noticed the prisoner had been injured? Perhaps it had been all the dirt and mud covering his uniform. This was not good. Not good at all! In addition to never having had a successful escape, Stalag 13 could also boast never having had a prisoner death. "All right, Schultz, find Colonel Hogan. I know they have a medic, Sergeant Wilson, who may be able to help until I can get the doctor from Stalag 4 here. I will have Fraulein Hilda contact them immediately."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." Schultz saluted and hurried from the office to Barracks 2. When he arrived, Hogan and his men were sitting at the table playing cards. They looked up as he lumbered in, breathing heavily.

"Colonel Hogan," panted Schultz, "Corporal Newkirk is very ill and needs a doctor. Kommandant Klink is contacting the medical unit at Stalag 4 but he said to have your medic look at him right away."

Hogan frowned as he stood up. "What's wrong with him, Schultz?"

"He has been shot!"

"What!" the prisoners as one leapt their feet converging on the hapless guard.

"What do you mean, he's been shot?" demanded Hogan angrily. "When? Why?"

Schultz backed up, eyes wide. "Please Colonel Hogan, not by me or my men! He must have been wounded when he was captured by the Gestapo! It is in his arm and it looks very bad. Please, can you get your medic and come right away?"

Hogan turned to Carter, "Go get Sergeant Wilson right away and meet us over at the cooler. Come on, Schultz."

It was all Schultz could do to keep up with the American as he dashed across the compound to the cooler. Panting, Schultz followed him inside and to Newkirk's cell. Private Fleischer stood just inside the doorway looking very worried. Hogan hurried to Newkirk's bunk and froze for an instant as he peered down at the ill corporal. Newkirk's eyes were sunk deep into his ashen face, his brow shiny with sweat. Hogan bent over to examine Newkirk's injured arm more closely and grimaced in dismay. He looked up with relief as Wilson came in and joined him.

"Oh wow, Colonel," said Wilson softly as he examined the arm. "This looks really bad. See the red streaks? Blood poisoning. Looks like the bullet is still in there. Here, let's get him out of these filthy clothes. It's not helping." Hogan sent Carter back to the barracks to find some clean clothing for Newkirk then turned to help Wilson remove Newkirk's filthy, mud-caked uniform. Hogan cursed softly as they discovered the massive bruising covering the corporal's torso and the deep gash in his side. Wilson gently ran his hands along Newkirk's chest and shook his head.

"Feels like several of his ribs are broken, Colonel and that gash is pretty nasty. He needs a real doctor, sir. Someone to remove the bullet as well as get him some penicillin. Sounds like he might be developing pneumonia if that rattling in his chest is any indication. It's possible a rib punctured a lung but I can't really tell. All I know is that if he doesn't get medical help soon I don't think he's going to make it."

"Why did he not say something?" asked Schultz fretfully.

Hogan shook his head. "I don't know, Schultz. It doesn't make any sense." Hogan thought back to when Newkirk had been returned to camp. He hadn't seemed that badly injured or ill, just angry but his uniform had been so caked with mud, it must have masked the blood stains. Inwardly, he cursed himself for not trying to see Newkirk sooner. Now, it might be too late.

A flurry of activity caused Hogan to turn just as Kommandant Klink strode into the cell peering over at the man on the bunk. "Well, Colonel Hogan, how is he?"

Hogan stood up and shook his head angrily. "Sir, he's in very bad shape. Obviously this is the work of the Gestapo!"

Klink paled as he caught sight of Newkirk's injuries. "I have contacted Stalag 4," he said softly. "The doctor should be here in a few hours." He looked at Wilson, "Is there anything you can do in the meantime, sergeant?"

Wilson opened his medic's kit and pulled out a small packet. "I can clean him up and have some sulfa powder that I can use, but Newkirk needs something a lot more powerful than this. But, it's better than nothing." He pulled out a thermometer and slipped it into Newkirk's mouth. He looked up at Hogan. "I'll need some soap, hot water and cloths." Klink nodded at Schultz who sent Fleischer to find the supplies.

Newkirk could hear voices but he couldn't focus. It was just too difficult He tried to place the voice. Reinhardt? Who else could it be? With a feeble snarl, Newkirk lunged forward reaching for the hated voice. He _would_ kill the bastard this time! His shaking hands fastened around Reinhardt's neck and eyes wild, Newkirk began to squeeze. "I'll kill you for what you did!" he rasped.

Wilson, gasped in pain as Newkirk's surprisingly powerful grip began blocking his airway. He never would have believed Newkirk had the strength to attack him! "Newkirk!" cried Hogan reaching forward to break the Englishman's hold on the hapless medic. It was more difficult than he'd anticipated. Newkirk had a death grip around Wilson's throat so powerful that in the end it took both Hogan and Schultz to break it. Wilson fell back sucking in great gulps of air while he hands massaged his bruised neck. Newkirk screamed in rage and desperately fought Hogan and Schultz in his frenzied attempts to reach Wilson.

"Newkirk!" Hogan cried again, trying to break through Newkirk's delirium. "Newkirk, stop! It's Sergeant Wilson! He's just trying to help you!"

"No, no, no!" howled the enraged corporal still lunging at Wilson, "I'm gonna tear your bloody heart out, you Nazi bastard!" Hogan and Schultz wrestled Newkirk back down onto the cot trying not to hurt him any more than he already was. Newkirk continued to struggle but gradually his efforts weakened as his energy waned until finally, he collapsed panting with exhaustion and rage. He glared at those around him apparently not recognizing any of them. Wilson picked up the thermometer from the floor and shook his head. It showed 103°F. It hadn't been in long enough so Wilson was certain it was higher than that but now was not the time to try again. He showed it to Hogan as Klink looked over his shoulder.

"I hope that doctor gets here soon," Wilson sighed. He looked up as Fleischer walked in carrying a bucket of water and the other supplies. Newkirk closed his eyes and silently seethed. In his mind, he was back in the Gestapo jail and he tensed waiting for the pain he knew was coming. He would kill Reinhardt if it was the last thing he ever did.

"OK, Newkirk," said Hogan slowly and calmly, "We're going to let you go now, OK? You're among friends. We're not going to hurt you." He looked at Schultz's worried face and nodded. Slowly they both moved away from Newkirk who remained motionless except for his labored breathing. He opened his eyes and stared at Wilson with burning hatred. The sergeant blinked in discomfort. He realized Newkirk was delirious, but it still made him very uncomfortable to have the Englishman glowering at him like that.

Carefully, Wilson cleaned the wounds, packed them with sulfa powder and bandaged them as well as he could. He sat back. "There's really not much more I can do, Colonel," he said regretfully.

Hogan nodded and turned to Klink. "I want to move Newkirk out of here and into the infirmary. It's too cold and damp in here. He needs someplace warm and the cooler isn't it."

Klink sighed. Yes, it would probably look better Newkirk wasn't in a cold, dank cell in the cooler when the doctor arrived. He looked to his sergeant. "Schultz, get a stretcher and move the prisoner to the infirmary immediately."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!"

Hogan looked down at Newkirk, frowning unhappily. "Hang on, Newkirk," he said softly. "Help is coming."

Newkirk's eyes flickered opening meeting those of his commanding officer. It took him a moment but he eventually recognized his commanding officer. Newkirk swallowed and with a hoarse whisper croaked, "That's what I'm afraid of." Shuddering, he then closed his eyes once more.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

The doctor arrived several hours later. His face was grim as he examined the injured man. His first inclination was to simply amputate the infected arm but it was not a procedure he relished. He held no true ill-will against the allied soldiers. He had studied in Britain, earning his medical degree at Oxford and had no love for the Nazis. He looked up to where the camp Kommandant and senior POW officer stood waiting. He rose and slowly walked over to them.

"Well, Doktor?" asked Klink impatiently.

"Herr Kommandant," relied Dr. Hoffman slowly, "The prisoner is very ill and badly injured. My first inclination is to amputate the infected arm but I would prefer to try medication first. It may be the penicillin I brought can save his arm as well as his life. In addition to the severe infection and loss of blood, he has numerous broken and cracked ribs and his kidneys are very badly bruised. I believe he has a mild concussion. He has also developed pneumonia. Any one of these is serious enough by itself but adding the effects together may very well prove to be fatal."

Klink sighed. "Well, do what you can, Doctor. I must get back to work. Sergeant Schultz will assist you with anything you might need." With a last glance at Newkirk, Klink turned and strode from the infirmary.

Dr. Hoffman turned to Colonel Hogan. "I will do what I can for your man, Colonel," he said solemnly. "But you must understand my resources are limited. I have brought what little penicillin I possess. It is very dear and not generally available for prisoners. I must get what I can from the Black Market so this will have to be enough. If it does not arrest the infection, then I will have no choice but to amputate his arm and hope it is not too late." He paused. "If you prefer, I can amputate now. It may increase his chances or possibly not." He shrugged.

Hogan frowned in thought as he studied Newkirk's fever-flushed face. He knew that Newkirk would prefer to take his chances and save the arm if at all possible. "Let's try the penicillin first," he said softly.

Hoffman nodded and returned to Newkirk's side. Opening his bag, he pulled out a syringe and quickly administered the medication then with soft sigh, he began to tend the Englishman's numerous injuries. He shook his head in disgust. He was all too familiar with the handiwork of the Gestapo and it never failed to anger him. Removing the bullet from Newkirk's arm took him longer than he would have liked due to the swelling and infection. The American medic assisted him as needed which Hoffman accepted gratefully. He bandaged the arm and then the ribs.

"We must elevate his head," Hoffman said looking for something to use. "It will help him breathe." Wilson and Hogan gathered the extra pillows from the adjacent cots. They were rather hard and flat but were sufficient for the purpose. When all was arranged to his satisfaction, Dr. Hoffman stood erect and turned to Wilson. "Get him to drink whenever possible and change the dressings as needed. I will try to return in a few days." Wilson nodded listening carefully.

"What are his chances?" asked Hogan stepping forward.

Hoffman turned to put his instruments away, giving him a moment to think. He sighed. "It could go either way, Colonel, however if the penicillin does not work, then his survival is unlikely. Good day to you."

As Dr. Hoffman turned to go, Hogan handed him a small sack LeBeau had delivered to him earlier. "Doctor, I hope this helps you in your work. Thank you for what you've done for Newkirk." Hoffman stared at Hogan for a moment before reaching for the bag. Glancing inside, he blinked in surprise at the contents. He saw coffee, chocolate, and cigarettes, more than enough to replenish his dwindling medical supplies from the Black Market.

He glanced again at the American officer. "Danke, Herr Colonel." He nodded to the other men then quickly departed. He hoped the Englander survived but if he didn't, well, he'd done all he could.

Hogan moved closer to Wilson. "So, what do you think, sergeant?"

Wilson shrugged. "He did a good job, colonel and I think he's right about Newkirk's chances. It all depends on how well he responds to the penicillin. All we can do now is wait."

Hogan nodded and sighed as he turned back to Newkirk. The British corporal was quiet now, almost too quiet although his harsh, rasping breath indicated he still lived. Hogan sank into the chair near the end of the bed as Wilson settled into another nearby. It would be a long night.

It was the deep seated hatred that kept Newkirk alive in the end. It fed the small flickering spark of life as his reserves were quickly depleted fighting the infections that ravaged his body. Deep within his soul he could hear Millie crying out for revenge against the barbarians that had savagely murdered her and her family. There was no one but Peter Newkirk who could answer that call. He alone knew of their fate and he would not allow the killer to go unpunished. He must survive in order to carry out his quest for vengeance.

Those around him, keeping a round the clock vigil, had no idea what demons Newkirk was fighting within. They watched in dismay as he went from deathly still to wildly delirious, screaming bloodcurdling invectives at unseen enemies, his blank eyes dark with fury. Other times, he whispered the name, "Millie". His friends shook their heads. Obviously, a woman had been involved in all of this somehow but would they ever find out who she was?

Sergeant Carter was most disturbed by his friend's bursts of unbridled rage. "Colonel," he panted after one especially violent session. It had taken two of them to hold Newkirk down. "What is he so upset about? I've never seen him this mad before. Ever!"

Hogan shook his head wearily as he wiped the sweat from his brow. That was the question, wasn't it? Ever since he had returned from his most recent escape, Newkirk had displayed uncharacteristic anger. "I don't know, Carter," he finally replied. "I'm worried if he keeps fighting like this, he's not going to have enough strength to fight off the infection."

Carter's face creased with concern as he carefully placed a cool, damp cloth on Newkirk's flushed brow. "Do you really think he's gonna make it, sir?"

Hogan gave a short laugh as he settled back onto his chair. "Carter, something has kept him alive this long and I have the feeling he's not going to let go until he's taken care of it. Let's just hope his body cooperates."

Carter nodded slowly. "I think you're right, Colonel. Newkirk is tough. He'll beat this."

Newkirk slowly opened his eyes. He had no idea where he was or what day it might be. He wasn't sure he had the strength to even turn his head so he let his eyes wander where they would. Well, he wasn't in the cooler any longer. He was pretty sure that was the last place he remembered being. He frowned. It wasn't the barracks. The infirmary, perhaps? Yes, he decided, it must be the infirmary. He'd only been in there a couple of times but it seemed the most likely place. Well, that was good then, wasn't it? He wasn't dead and the Gestapo no longer had him. Yes, all in all, things were looking up. He closed his eyes again.

"Newkirk?" His eyes blinked open once more now looking up into the anxious face of a dark haired man hovering above. "Newkirk? Can you hear me? Do you know who I am?"

Newkirk blinked a few more times as his brain mulled over the words. He frowned in concentration. "Wilson?" he rasped finally, his voice sounding painful even to him.

Wilson smiled in relief. "That's right! Welcome back! You had us worried, Corporal!"

Newkirk said nothing. He was still trying to process what was going on. He looked at Wilson again. He tried to speak but his throat felt like it was full of cotton.

"Hold on!" Newkirk felt his head being gently lifted and a tin cup held to his lips. Cautiously he sipped at the cool water then gulped more greedily as it brought some relief to his parched throat. "Slowly, Newkirk! Slowly!" Wilson warned. When the cup was empty, the medic carefully lowered Newkirk's head back onto the pillows.

Newkirk swallowed again, then coughed deeply. He winced at the pain in his ribs and abdomen. When the spell had passed, he looked to Wilson sitting beside him. "How long?" His voice was barely above a breathless whisper.

"How long have you been here?" Wilson asked. Newkirk nodded. "Six days." Newkirk closed his eyes again. Six days! He pictured little Millie's body lying exposed to elements for over a week. He groaned softly. He had to get back to the farm and take care of her! The farm had been burned leaving little to attract looters so he doubted anyone had ventured near the accursed place. It was his fault Millie had been murdered and so it was his responsibility to give her a decent burial. His jaw clenched in growing anger and frustration and he could feel his breath coming faster and faster. He needed to get out of here now!

Wilson watched with growing concern as Newkirk's face went through a series of unexpected transformations, from puzzled to furious. Again, the unexplained anger. "Corporal?" he asked softly, leaning closer. "Is there something wrong?" Newkirk opened his eyes again to find Wilson staring at him in concern. Taking a slow breath, he attempted to calm himself. Newkirk shook his head in response to the sergeant's query and tried to smile. It would do no good if he got everyone riled up. This was something he had to do himself. But he couldn't wait too long. Animals might get to the body and he couldn't bear the thought of that sweet little girl being mangled and mauled. She was depending on him. Wilson studied him a few minutes longer, his brow furrowed with unease. He laid a hand on Newkirk's shoulder. "The colonel will want to know you're awake," he said softly. "I'll be back in just a few minutes, OK?"

Newkirk nodded again and watched as the sergeant hurried from the room. When he was gone, Newkirk took inventory of his injuries. He still had his arm he was happy to see. He had worried he would lose it. It seemed well bandaged and secured in a sling. He moved it tentatively and painful though it may be, it was considerably better than it had been. That was good. If he was able to use it before, he could use it now. He knew his ribs were still sore but again, they had had almost a week to heal and he felt he could manage. One handed, he tried to push himself up to a sitting position but stopped as the room began to spin. Bloody hell. This wasn't going to work! He collapsed back onto the pillows panting with exertion. He pounded the bed weakly in frustration. Just that little bit and he was exhausted by the effort. It would take him forever to regain his strength and return to the farm! Again, the anger rose in him giving him the strength to sit up and swing his legs over the side. With a grunt of effort he pushed himself to his feet taking a few steps towards the door, but his strength failed him and he collapsed with a cry of pain and anger. Lying helpless on the floor, coughing deeply, he felt sick and defeated.

"Corporal Newkirk!" Newkirk looked up wearily to find Colonel Hogan and Wilson standing in the doorway, their mouths open in shock. "Newkirk!" cried Hogan again hurrying to the man sprawled on the floor. "What the hell do you think you're doing!" Without waiting for an answer, Hogan quickly lifted Newkirk and resettled him into his bed while Wilson deftly wiped away the sweat dripping from the injured man's face.

"Colonel, he shouldn't have enough strength to sit up much less get out of bed!" muttered Wilson in disbelief as he carefully checked over Newkirk's injuries. "I never would have left him if I'd thought he'd pull a stunt like that!"

Hogan looked down at the man in the bad and shook his head. "Newkirk?" he said more softly now. "Are you OK?"

Newkirk coughed painfully and gave a small, rueful smile while deep inside, he was seething at the delay. "I'm fine, Colonel," he said slowly. "Not sure what I was thinkin'. Guess I thought it was time for bloody roll call!"

Hogan and Wilson exchanged glances. Hogan knew there was something more going on but now was not the time to pursue it. Newkirk needed to regain some of his strength before Hogan would feel comfortable confronting him about his unexplained anger as well as an explanation of exactly what had happened while he was out of camp. Newkirk, in the meantime, meant to bide his time and keep his secrets. He was ashamed and guilt-ridden by what he had done. Not only had he had endangered his mates here in Stalag 13 by bringing in that Gestapo informant but by his own selfish actions, caused the death of three innocent people. As far as he was concerned, he had but two tasks to accomplish before he died: care for the remains of Millie and her family and kill Major Reinhardt.

Kinch, Carter and LeBeau arrived later in the day, anxious to see their friend. "It's about time you quit goldbricking, you faker," grinned Kinch. "We're tired of doing all your work!" Newkirk smiled in response, but Hogan noticed it never reached his eyes.

"I will make you some of your favorite dishes, mon ami," sighed LeBeau with a slight scowl. "Even thought it will _kill_ me to have to make your 'orrible English food! Are you sure you wouldn't like a nice crêpe?" He looked hopeful.

"I knew you'd make it, Newkirk," said Carter solemnly. "You don't give up that easily."

For the first time, Newkirk gave a genuine laugh. "You're right about that, Andrew. Besides, I couldn't leave you lot on yer own. Someone's gotta keep you out o' trouble!"

It wasn't long before Wilson shooed them all away. Newkirk was fading and they certainly didn't want to overtire him. Hogan and his men headed back to the barracks in a thoughtful silence. Finally, Kinch turned to Hogan. "You're right, Colonel. Something is different. I mean he seemed happy and all but there was something bothering him."

"You could see it in his eyes," said Carter looking back towards the infirmary. "It was like he was always looking someplace else."

Hogan glanced at Carter in surprise. The young sergeant might be a whiz at explosives but Hogan never thought of him as particularly insightful. But he was right. All the time they were in visiting with Newkirk, the Englishman never seemed entirely there.

"Have you asked him about what happened while he was gone, mon Colonel?" asked LeBeau.

"Or about that Millie girl?" piped in Carter.

Hogan shook his head. "I don't think he's quite ready for any of that yet. I'll give him a few days to get stronger and if he hasn't brought it up on his own, I'll ask him. Obviously _something_ happened."

"Well, obviously the Gestapo had him for at least few days, Colonel," frowned Kinch. "Who knows what they did to him."

Carter looked unhappy. "But he's gonna be OK now, right? I mean even if something did happen, he's with us now and we can fix him right up."

Hogan rubbed his eyes wearily. "Carter, we have to face the possibility that it might not be anything we _can_ fix. Sometimes a person is pushed too far and he can't bend any further and if that's the case we might lose him. Even if he recovers physically, well…" Hogan paused sadly as he turned away from Carter's earnest gaze, "This time his spirit might not."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N Just a short chapter today – still on the road so time is limited! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and thanks again for all the wonderful support. I truly appreciate it.

**CHAPTER 7**

A couple of days had passed since Newkirk had regained consciousness and the crisis had passed. Wilson watched with satisfaction as Newkirk cleaned his bowl of everything he had been given. Often when someone has been very ill, the appetite takes awhile to return but Newkirk seemed to determine to force down food whether he wanted it or not. As a result, color was returning to his gaunt face and he was starting to regain some of his strength. With a sigh, Newkirk leaned back against his pillows and handed the bowl to the waiting medic. To be honest, it was all the Englishman could do to keep the watery stew down. Nothing had any taste and eating was a chore he could have easily done without. However, he was realistic and knew the only way he'd get out of the infirmary and back to the farm was to do everything he could to get stronger and if that meant choking down whatever food Wilson deemed suitable, then so be it.

Newkirk's sense of urgency was growing daily. He felt if he couldn't get back to the farm soon, it would be too late. Too late for what, he couldn't fathom, but still the feeling persisted. He tried to be patient but it was so hard. Waking up nightly with heart-pounding nightmares wasn't helping either. He could feel his jaw tightening as the unwanted memories of that day came creeping back into his mind. He fought them daily but they returned without warning : Millie, Dieter, their mother, their screams and the smell of kerosene and burning flesh.

"Newkirk?" Newkirk's eyes flew open as he realized how harsh and fast his breathing had become as his fury grew. Wilson was standing there frowning, bowl still clutched in his hand. A moment later, Colonel Hogan appeared beside him. The two men exchanged glances and with a nod, Wilson turned and silently left the room. Hogan pulled up a chair and sat down still studying Newkirk's flushed face.

"Corporal Newkirk," he began quietly, "I think the time has come for you to tell me exactly what happened after you left here with the men from Stalag 6."

Newkirk didn't look at the colonel. He had known this was coming and long debated exactly how much to tell his commanding officer. He wasn't sure he was up to describing the murders of Millie and her family. He knew he should but he feared how the others would react. He sighed, pushed himself straighter and began.

"Well, there's not much to tell, Colonel. I left 'ere with the lads from Stalag 6 and got 'em safely to the Underground rendezvous. Then, I 'eaded back to Stalag 13. On the way, I ran into a couple o' SS patrols and one of 'em shot at me. Me arm was hit as I was escapin'. As I was runnin' through the woods, I slipped and fell into the river. Got banged up a bit on rocks and such before I finally grabbed onto a tree and pulled meself out. I wasn't exactly sure where I was and wasn't thinkin' too clear at that point but I found a barn and hid inside. Next mornin', the bloody Gestapo found me and took me to their 'eadquarters in town. Tortured me for a couple o' days then brought me back 'ere." He shrugged, still not looking at Hogan. "That's all there was to it, sir."

Hogan frowned. Obviously that was _not_ all there was to it. Newkirk's face had gone deathly pale and his jaw was clenched tightly. "And what about the "frauleins" Reinhardt mentioned? You wanna tell me about them?"

Newkirk went absolutely still, his lips a thin, hard line. "There's nuthin' to tell, sir," he said softly although the tightness in his voice belied the flippant tone. "There was a woman and 'er little girl livin' at the farm. Not exactly my type if you know what I mean."

Hogan's eyes narrowed. He felt they were getting closer to the heart of the matter. "What happened to them?"

Newkirk blinked in desperate confusion. Should he tell Hogan about the murders? Now was the time but what would happen if he did? Hogan certainly wouldn't let him go running back to the farm to bury them and he definitely wouldn't condone killing Reinhardt no matter how much he might sympathize. Newkirk knew what he had to do and so made his decision. Turning to Hogan he blurted, "The bloody Nazis burned down their entire farm! Left 'em with nuthin! They didn't even know I was there and still they lost everything!" He looked away again, his face burning. "It's all my fault," he muttered.

Hogan sighed and rubbed his eyes. So that was it. Some innocent German farmers had suffered because Newkirk had hidden out on their farm and he was feeling guilty. That certainly explained a lot especially given the fact females, no matter if they were his type or not, were involved. On the outside, Newkirk could appear very gruff and unapproachable but inside, he was as soft as they came. However, it was Newkirk's soft heart that had started all this to begin with. If he hadn't gone back to "save" that Gestapo informant, none of this would have happened. It was Hogan's job to make sure Newkirk didn't pull another stupid stunt like that and try to "save" these farmers.

"Newkirk," Hogan began slowly, "It wasn't your fault. This is war and these things happen. You know the Gestapo. They always feel like they have to make a statement. You also understand that's why we do what we're doing; to stop just this kind of oppression. The best way you can help those farmers is by continuing to fight against the Nazis and put an end to this war. Do you hear what I'm saying, Corporal?"

"But Colonel," pleaded Newkirk, his face a mask of worry, "It was _my_ fault! They didn't deserve what 'appened to them!"

Hogan was trying to be patient but he knew their mission had to come first above all else. "I'm sorry, Corporal," he said sternly. "I _order_ you to forget about those farmers and concentrate on our work here. You are a soldier first and your duty is _here_ not organizing some barn raising. For all you know, they were card-carrying Nazis and would have turned you in without a second thought! And if you can't forget about them, then I will have to relieve you of duty and find someone else who can put ending this war above all else. Do I make myself clear, soldier?"

Newkirk was silent. He understood the colonel all too well. He wasn't ready to give up his place on Hogan's team but he would be damned if he let his obligations to Millie go unfulfilled. He would just have to find a way to do both. With a sigh, Newkirk faced Hogan again. He paused for a moment before replying in a soft voice, "Yessir, I understand perfectly. I know me duty and I'll stay with you."

Hogan nodded and gave a small smile. "I knew I could count on you, Newkirk." He stood up and put a hand on the Englishman's shoulder. "Just get well, Newkirk. We really need you." With that, he was gone.

Newkirk lay silently on his bed for several moments, his mind whirling. He felt guilty for not telling Hogan the entire truth but this was his private battle. He would get to that farm as soon as he could and as for Reinhardt…well when the time was right, he was a dead man.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N Sorry for the delay but I've been out of town and will be leaving again soon. But, I wanted to try and get another update up! Thanks!

**Note to Anonymous**: I know you feel I wrote Hogan somewhat out of character in the last chapter but I did that on purpose. This entire mess began because Newkirk blatantly disobeyed orders and tried to rescue that Gestapo informant thus putting the entire operation in serious jeopardy. Hogan has not forgotten that and now he senses a similar situation brewing with these farmers who, as far as Hogan knows, are safe and sound although they did lose their farm. I know Hogan rarely treats his men as soldiers but I felt in this situation he needed to make his point very, very clear as well as shock Newkirk out of the emotional swamp he seems to be wallowing in (of course Hogan has no idea just how deep that swamp is). So, rather than treating Newkirk as a comrade, he's treating him as a soldier and reminding him that they need to focus on the big picture. Hogan is sympathetic to what happened to Newkirk but as a soldier, he needs to do what he has to in order to get his men back on track and in this case, I felt tough love was the more appropriate course of action.

**CHAPTER 8**

The days passed slowly for Newkirk as he lay alone in his bunk. His body healed but his soul was as damaged as ever. He put on a brave face and made the others believe he was anxious to get back on his feet so he could resume his role as one of Hogan's men but his true motives were more personal. He had given a lot of thought to what the colonel had said to him. He knew he needed to finish what he'd started with Millie and her family but he also owed his allegiance to his mates and what they had pledged to do in order speed the end of the war. A lot of lives depended on what they did in conjunction with the Underground.

Finally, after another week, he had had enough. He pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bunk. He felt lightheaded from being in bed for so long but the time had come to quit lying about and get back to the world.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Newkirk looked up to see Wilson leaning against the doorway watching him with a slight grin.

"I've 'ad enough o' lyin' around 'here," growled Newkirk trying to suppress a cough. "I can't take another minute. Even roll call is startin' to sound like fun!

Wilson laughed as he entered the room and reached out to help Newkirk stand. "Well Newkirk, I expect it'll be a few days longer before you're up to standing out in the cold for roll call but we can at least get you moving around the infirmary. That'll help get your strength back and the way you're going, that won't be too much longer!"

The first trip around the room left Newkirk pale, shaking and dripping sweat but he felt good about it as he settled back in his bed. He was determined to get up as much as Wilson would allow, even more if could sneak it in, and get back on his feet.

His friends were delighted with his progress. Each of them took turns coming by to help Newkirk each day and Hogan made a point to encourage him in his efforts. Hogan was relieved to see Newkirk working so hard to recover and was pleased that the Englishman seemed to be getting back to normal. It wasn't long before Newkirk could navigate the room on his own and was soon traveling farther and farther afield.

"Well Corporal Newkirk. It seems you have recovered." Newkirk, who had just returned from a walk around the building, turned at the sound of the officious voice and found Colonel Klink standing in the doorway of the infirmary regarding him with a frown.

"Yes, sir," replied Newkirk standing straight. "I am doing much better, sir!"

"Mm, hmm," nodded Klink, adjusting his monocle and approaching Newkirk thoughtfully. "Yes, I would say so. In fact, I would even go so far as to say you are now on the verge of malingering. Schultz!" He turned sharply to the corpulent sergeant hovering nearby. "Return Corporal Newkirk to his barracks. I think he has recovered enough to return to his normal routine."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!" Schultz smartly saluted as Klink, with final sniff of annoyance strode from the room. Schultz relaxed and with a shake of his head turned to Newkirk. "You heard, the Kommandant, Newkirk," he sighed, "You must return to your barracks now."

Newkirk grinned happily. "That's all right, Schultzie. I was going round the bend in 'ere. I'm ready to start planning more excitin' escapes and makin' you Krauts miserable! It's me duty as a soldier in 'is Majesty's armed forces!" With any luck, old Klink wouldn't remember Newkirk was supposed to spending sixty days in the cooler.

"Jolly joker!" growled Schultz in mock irritation. "Raus! Back to Barracks 2!"

"On me way, Schultzie!" With a grin and jaunty wave, Newkirk turned and made his way back towards his barracks. Schultz watched and with a small laugh, returned to his own duties.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in!" Newkirk grinned as LeBeau turned from his pot to watch the Englishman enter the barracks.

"Sorry, Louis," said Newkirk with a sigh as he settled himself at the table, " but ol' Klink told me I 'ad to quit malingering and return to me duties. Which, of course, includes annoying you!"

The barracks door opened again and Hogan with Carter on his heels, entered along with a blast of frigid air. "Newkirk!" exclaimed Carter in surprise. "You're back!"

Hogan frowned as he studied Newkirk's pale face. "You OK, Newkirk? Wilson send you back?"

Newkirk gave a short laugh. "No sir, it was ol' Klink. 'E decided I'd malingered long enough, and sent me on me way. But to answer your, question sir, I'm fine. Right as rain."

Hogan didn't look fully convinced. "Carter, go find Sgt. Wilson and bring him back here."

"Yessir!" and Carter was gone.

"Colonel!" protested Newkirk pushing himself to his feet. "I'm fine!" Hogan shook his head as Newkirk stumbled a couple of steps.

Hogan quickly reached out and steadied the Englishman. "Steady there, Newkirk. I think you'd better sit down, before you fall down."

Grumbling, Newkirk lowered himself back into his seat. He knew he wasn't 100% but he was certainly a lot better than he had been and he knew he was ready to be back with his mates and not stuck off by himself in the infirmary. Plus being alone provided him with too much time to think. LeBeau wandered over and placed a bowl of stew in front of Newkirk. "You look like you need this, mon ami!"

Newkirk inhaled the savory aroma and grinned in appreciation. "Smells great, LeBeau!" He quickly dug in, forcing himself to eat. The stew did smell wonderful but food still held little interest for Newkirk. Wilson arrived a short time later and quickly checked Newkirk over.

"Well Colonel, he'll live but I wouldn't recommend sending him off on any missions for awhile."

Hogan nodded. "Thanks, Wilson. Kinda what I expected. He OK to stand roll call?"

"Yeah, as long he doesn't have to stand out there too long, he should be fine." Wilson clapped Newkirk on the shoulder. "Take it easy, Newkirk. Let me know if you have any problems. Remember, don't overdo it!"

"Right-o, Wilson," Newkirk leaned back in his chair. "No need to worry!" Wilson looking a bit skeptical, exchanged a dubious glance with Hogan and left. Newkirk grinned again. He was back.

He was indeed back in the barracks but that was still a far cry from being fit enough for duty. It was hard for Newkirk watching the others heading off on missions while he remained back in the barracks. He helped as much as he could at the camp but still he found his frustration growing as his recovery dragged on. Until he was up to hiking miles through the woods and digging the frozen ground, heading out to the farm was pointless. He fought his growing depression knowing he might already be too late to bury the bodies. He tried to keep up a positive front, but lately he'd noticed the others watching him with growing concern.

One evening, when the others were out to pick up some escaped prisoners from Stalag 2, Hogan approached Newkirk and asked him into his office. Newkirk gritted his teeth trying not to look worried.

"Sit down, Newkirk," said Hogan as he closed the door behind them. Newkirk settled onto the edge of the chair trying to look relaxed. Hogan narrowed his eyes as he studied Newkirk's pale face.

"How're you doing, Newkirk?" Hogan asked sitting on his bunk, still carefully watching Newkirk. "Really."

Newkirk swallowed. Again, part of him wanted to blurt out the whole sorry tale about Millie and her family but he found he simply couldn't get the words out. Obviously, this was his burden to bear. He swallowed uncomfortably as he decided what to say. "Well Colonel," he said finally, "It is a bit hard watching the lads go off wi'out me. Hard to keep me spirits up, if you know what I mean. I feel so bloody useless."

Hogan nodded thoughtfully. "And the farmers?"

Newkirk looked away for a moment. "I still feel bloody awful about that," he said softly, "But I've thought on what you said, and you're right. Helpin' to stop this bloody war is the best thing I can do for 'em."

Inwardly, Hogan sighed in relief. He had been worried that Newkirk had been brooding about the German farmers. He knew he'd been harsh with Newkirk when Newkirk first told him the story about the Gestapo's destruction of the farm but Hogan felt it had been necessary to snap Newkirk's attention back to where it needed to be. Apparently it had worked. Hogan was no happier about what had happened to those people than Newkirk but he also understood that in war, innocents suffer and sometimes there is nothing you can do about it. The whole point of their mission at Stalag 13 was to help end the war as soon as possible and end this kind of abuse.

Hogan stood and placed a hand on Newkirk's shoulder. "Newkirk, you aren't the one that destroyed that farm. It was the Gestapo. They are the ones who are responsible and should be punished for it. Not you. I know you feel guilty but you have risked your life over and over helping others and fighting against the Nazis. You should feel proud of what you have done and use this incident to remind of you of why we're doing what we're doing."

Newkirk nodded slowly. "You're right, sir. I just wish I could get back into fight before I go 'round the bend!"

Hogan smiled. "Don't worry, Newkirk. There's still plenty of war left – it won't be over before you're healed up!"

It was time for evening roll call a week or so later and Newkirk slowly stood as he heard Schultz's bellowing call. With the usual moaning and groaning, the men piled out of the barracks and jockeyed for position in line. Newkirk stood huddled in his coat while Schultz went the through the list of names. He felt the cold more than he used to he noticed and would be glad to get back into the warmth of the barracks. He closed his eyes as he waited impatiently for Schultz to finish. He suddenly had this feeling that something was wrong and he wouldn't feel comfortable until he was back in the barracks. Finally, Klink's voice rolling across the parade ground "Repoooooooooooort!"

Newkirk slowly opened his eyes, noticed Klink across the yard and abruptly froze. As the Kommandant strode across the parade ground towards the Barracks 2, Newkirk had spied a figure crouching on the porch of the Kommandontur, dark and malevolent, like a waiting spider. Newkirk stopped breathing as he recognized that figure: it was Captain Reinhardt. A chill ran through Newkirk's body and his knees went weak as his eyes met those of the Gestapo agent. Reinhardt smiled his reptilian smile causing Newkirk to break out into a cold sweat as images of those days in the Gestapo jail threatened to overwhelm him. He felt his chest tighten and his head began to spin as Reinhardt stepped off the porch and began sauntering towards the lineup.

Roll call was over and prisoners were dispersing but for a long moment, Newkirk was unable to move. Hogan frowned as he noted Newkirk's pale, anxious face. "Newkirk?" he asked quietly. "You OK?"

Newkirk tried to speak but found nothing would come. He swallowed with great effort, his mouth bone dry. He started to shake. Frowning deeper, Hogan stepped closer and gently took Newkirk's arm. "C'mon, Newkirk, we'd better get you inside."

As Hogan began to lead Newkirk away, Schultz quickly approached them. "Colonel Hogan, please! Colonel Klink wants to talk to Newkirk."

"What does Klink want, Schultz?" asked Hogan suspiciously. His frowned deepened as he noticed how the Gestapo man now standing near Klink was watching them with some amusement.

"I know nothing, Colonel Hogan. I just know he told me to bring Newkirk." Hogan and Newkirk exchanged glances then with a shrug Newkirk followed Schultz towards the Kommandant's office where Klink and Reinhardt waited. Hogan watched for a moment then followed. His gut told him this was not good.

"Corporal Newkirk," announced Klink as the men approached him. "Captain Reinhardt would like to have a word with you."

"What about?" Hogan demanded stepping forward. "Haven't you done enough damage, Captain?"

Reinhardt glared at Hogan for a moment before replying. "I have nothing to say to you, Colonel Hogan. I just wish to have a few private words with Corporal Newkirk. That is all."

Before Hogan could protest, two SS soldiers stepped between him and Reinhardt as the captain led Newkirk around the corner of the building. Newkirk followed silently with a third SS guard right behind. Once they were out of sight of the others, Reinhardt turned to Newkirk and studied him carefully. "You look considerably better than the last time I saw you," he said conversationally. Newkirk did not trust himself to say anything. Reinhardt laughed.

"I just thought you might like to know, Corporal Newkirk, that I have located Herr Zimmer and his son, Franz." He laughed again as Newkirk started at the names. Still, he said nothing, just waited warily. "Ja," continued Reinhardt with a smirk, "They are still alive, working in a labor camp. You can imagine their dismay to learn of the deaths of Frau Zimmer and the children."

Newkirk swallowed, trying to keep his anger in check. He knew Reinhardt was baiting him and attacking him now would be pointless but he could hear his heartbeat throbbing in his ears.

Reinhardt nodded knowingly then looked off into the distance. "Ja, they were quite upset and even more so when they learned that you, a British soldier, was responsible for the death their family. And now, you are responsible for their lives as well."

"What do you mean?" growled Newkirk, his eyes dark with fury. He felt as if his entire body was coiled like a spring, ready to explode.

Reinhardt, his harsh voice now cold and threatening, turned to look directly at Newkirk. "Herr Zimmer and his son are alive only because I allow them to live. And their lives now depend wholly on you.'

Newkirk blanched as he realized the possible implications of that statement. He tried to speak but nothing came out. He swallowed and tried again. "What are you talkin' about, Captain?"

"What I am saying, Corporal Newkirk," hissed Reinhardt, pushing his face closer to Newkirk's, "is that if you do not cooperate with me, the Zimmers will die. It is as simple as that. I expect you to tell me if Colonel Hogan is up to something. I do not care what you said before. I know that Hogan is not some innocent POW. I am certain he is involved with the sabotage that goes on in this area. How? I do not know but I expect you will tell me. If you do not, not only will the Zimmers die a most painful death, but I will transfer you to a labor camp." He smiled. "Few prisoners ever return from the mines in Poland."

"You can't do that!"

"Oh, but I can, Corporal," grinned Reinhardt, "I have looked at your record. You have far more escape attempts than any other prisoner in this camp. If you were an officer, we could send you to a more secure camp such as Colditz but as you are a mere corporal it is within our rights under the Geneva Convention to send you to a labor camp. You have no choice. You help me or both you and the Zimmers are doomed. Can you live with their blood on your hands as well?"

Newkirk stared at him for a moment in mute disbelief then with a roar of rage threw himself at the captain; all the pent up fury and frustration of the past few weeks exploding in a frenzy of violence. Reinhardt, taken by surprise, fell back in the face of the onslaught but quickly regrouped and with a snarl of his own struck back driving Newkirk to the ground with a vicious backhand. Gasping, Newkirk sprawled in the dirt, wiping the blood from his face. A moment later, Hogan and the two SS men rounded the corner with Klink and Schultz on their tail.

"What's going on here!" cried Hogan hurrying over to help Newkirk to his feet. "You can't go around striking prisoners! I'm going to file a complaint with Red Cross!"

Reinhardt straightened his uniform as he glared at Hogan. "Your man attacked me first, Hogan. You are lucky I do not have him shot."

Hogan glanced at Newkirk. Newkirk's face was red with anger, his breathing rapid and harsh. "I will kill you, you bloody son of a bitch!" snarled the furious Englishman. "First chance I get!" He lunged again his hands reaching for Reinhardt's throat. Hogan with Schultz's help managed to keep Newkirk in check.

"Take it easy, Newkirk!" snapped Hogan giving him a little shake. "Calm down! Get back to the barracks and wait for me. You understand?"

With a low snarl, Newkirk shrugged off Hogan's hand and with a backwards glance of pure hatred at Reinhardt, stalked off towards Barracks 2. Hogan watched him for a few moments then turned again to the Germans standing nearby. "Colonel Klink!" said Hogan angrily, "Captain Reinhardt struck one of my men and I demand to know what you're going to do about it!"

Klink blinked in confusion. "I, uh, well, Colonel Hogan, you heard the captain. Corporal Newkirk attacked him first!"

"That is correct, Colonel Klink," agreed Reinhardt stiffly. "I was simply speaking with the corporal and he struck me. I could have him shot for attacking a German officer!"

Hogan glared at him for a few moments longer. "I will be reporting this to the Red Cross!" He then abruptly turned and strode away towards the barracks.

Klink stood uncertainly as he watched Hogan hurry off towards the barracks. He turned to back to the Gestapo captain to ask if he was all right but the words died in Klink's throat as he noticed the combination of malevolence and triumph on the Gestapo man's face. It was a sight that chilled Klink's blood. The Kommandant did not have any idea of what was going on here and as he started to follow Reinhardt back to the captain's car, he decided that it would be in his own best interest to keep it that way.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

When Hogan stormed into the barracks, he found an agitated Newkirk pacing the barracks. Hogan observed him for a moment before speaking. "All right, Newkirk, you want to tell me exactly what happened?" Carter, LeBeau and Kinch looked at Newkirk expectantly.

Newkirk stopped pacing after a moment, running his hand through his unruly hair. He was silent as he turned to face the others but his eyes were blazing. He had been debating just how much to tell the others. He still couldn't bring himself to say anything about the Zimmers but he had to say something. He slammed his hand against the table. "Reinhardt wants me to be 'is bloody spy! If I don't tell 'im when we plan on doing somethin', 'e's gonna send me to some ruddy labor camp in Poland!"

The others stared at him in shocked disbelief before exploding. "They can't do that!" cried Carter leaping to his feet.

"Impossible!" spat LeBeau. "They cannot send you to labor camp! It is against the Geneva Convention!"

Hogan frowned in thought as Newkirk dropped into a chair. "It is impossible, isn't it, Colonel?" asked Kinch watching Hogan carefully.

Hogan sighed and shook his head slowly. "No, actually it isn't." The others now turned to him in confusion.

"But Colonel!" cried Carter in dismay, "How can that be allowed! He's a prisoner of war!"

"Yeah," agreed Hogan glancing over at Newkirk, now slumped miserably in his chair, "But there is a clause that allows the Nazis to use prisoners under the rank of sergeant as laborers. In theory they're supposed to treat them as they would in a regular POW camp, but I think we can safely assume Reinhardt has other ideas. They aren't supposed to use prisoners in the manufacture of war materials but that leaves a lot of other options wide open."

"Well, I guess that settles it," sighed Newkirk morosely. "Guess I'll be puttin' all that tunnel diggin' experience to good use."

"No, Newkirk," replied Hogan firmly, "we are not going to let Reinhardt send you off to some labor camp. We'll figure something out. But we don't have to do anything immediately. We've got some time to come up with a plan. He just expects you to pass on any information that comes along and that could take some time. We might just be able to turn this to our advantage."

"You thinking about maybe passing on false information, mon Colonel?" asked LeBeau.

"Hey! That could be a terrific idea!" Carter's eyes were bright with excitement, "We'd get Newkirk off the hook and make trouble for the Nazis at the same time!"

Hogan frowned in thought. "I don't know what we'll do exactly. We can't pass on anything that's blatantly false or once Reinhardt realizes he's been had, Newkirk will be off to Poland."

"But Colonel," protested Kinch, "If Newkirk tells Reinhardt anything, someone gets in trouble! If Newkirk gives him some information that turns out to be true, then that proves to Reinhardt he was right all along. If it's false, then Newkirk's out of here!"

Newkirk was barely listening as the others discussed what to do. He was thinking about the Zimmers. Where were they? Although he'd played up the risk to himself, he didn't care if he got sent off to the fiery pits of Hell if it meant the Zimmers would be safe. He had to figure out a way to help Millie's father and brother. He was worried that if he did something that set Reinhardt off, they would die. If only he could find out where they were being held maybe he could help them escape. He closed his eyes and unbidden, the scene at the farmhouse played back to him. He shuddered.

He now looked over at his friends, so passionately debating his future. He couldn't do anything to hurt them either. He'd already done enough damage as far as they were concerned. If he turned over any information to Reinhardt, they could all be killed but if he didn't, then the Zimmers would most certainly be. He buried his head in his hands. Maybe he should just make a break for it. If he simply cut the wires or escaped in some obvious way that wouldn't involve any of the others, then Reinhardt couldn't blame Hogan. He felt a chill run through his body as he thought of the difficult chore that still loomed before him – burying Millie and her family. He nodded to himself. Yes, escaping would probably be the best thing. The time had finally come. He could go to the farm first and then he would avoid the usual escape routes and just try to make it on his own to Switzerland. He wanted to avoid bringing any suspicions on the Underground people who had been helping them smuggle prisoners out of the country. He was a marked man and he couldn't bring the others down with him. It would be a new moon in a few more days, he would go then. Maybe he could somehow find out where the Zimmers were but he had a feeling, no matter what he did, they were lost. He turned his attention back to the discussion.

"Well, we aren't going to rush into anything," he heard Hogan saying. "This is going to require some serious thought or we're all in big trouble. For now, all our sabotage operations are shut down. Kinch, let London know that at least for the moment we are out of business until we can get this figured out." Hogan turned to Newkirk and frowned in concern. The man looked terrible. Granted, he was still recovering from injuries but there was a sense of defeatism so unlike the indomitable Englishman. "Newkirk? You OK? Don't worry, we will get this figured out."

Newkirk forced himself to sit up straight and smile. "I believe you, Colonel. We've been in worse scrapes than this. I know it'll be fine." In his mind, he was already planning his escape.

The opportunity came a week later. Although Hogan had declared a moratorium on all new sabotage efforts, they were still helping a few escaped prisoners from other camps. They had just gotten word from the Underground that two men from Stalag 2 had escaped and needed to be picked up. LeBeau and Carter were going out to meet them. Kinch was stationed down in the tunnel monitoring the radio and Hogan found himself forced to attend a dinner party that Klink was holding for General Burkhalter and his sister. Klink both feared and detested Burkhalter's sister, Gertrude. Since her own husband had disappeared on the Eastern Front over a year ago, it was obvious she now viewed the hapless Kommandant as possible husband material. Most held the opinion her husband had surrendered to the Russians rather than come home to his formidable wife. Whenever she came to dinner, Klink always made Hogan attend hoping for some moral support. So tonight, Newkirk was on his own.

He planned on going through the fence. He wanted to make it as obvious as possible so the Krauts wouldn't go looking for tunnels. They hadn't found any of the numerous passageways that honeycombed the land beneath the camp and Newkirk wanted to make sure it stayed that way. Once the others were out of the way, he slipped out the barracks door. He had given an excuse to the other prisoners in the barracks that he needed to talk to Schultz and they had no reason to suspect otherwise.

The night was cold and the night surrounded the camp in a shroud of indelible black. The compound was periodically bathed in the brilliant light of the search lights but Newkirk was well familiar with their pattern. The guards rarely deviated from their customary routines. He carefully lifted the lid of the nearby water barrel where he had hidden a rucksack of supplies earlier in the day. He shouldered the pack and cautiously moved across the compound, staying in the shadows. He had done this so many times he could have done it in his sleep, but he saw no reason to be careless. Finally, he reached a blind spot in the fence. There were several of these around the perimeter but again, Newkirk preferred to avoid the spot they had precut for emergencies. He wanted to do this the old fashioned way. He watched carefully as the outer perimeter guard passed by. The dog never even looked his way. The prisoners had worked hard to cultivate friendly relationships with all the guard dogs, even though they were regularly changed out.

As soon as the guard was out of sight, Newkirk slipped out of his hiding place and sprinted towards the fence. He silently leaped over the low-lying warning wire and hunkered down next to main fence. Pulling out his cutters, he quickly cut through the multiple strands of wire. Again, he had done this so many times, it took him only a couple of minutes to make a space large enough for him to wriggle through. As soon as he was clear, he crouched unmoving for a few more moments to survey the land between himself and the woods. It was a good 50 yards of marshy lowlands covered in brush and rocks; not the easiest thing to run through, but he had purposely chosen the least accessible direction knowing the guards tended to overlook this area. He checked his watch; it would be at least three more minutes before the perimeter guard returned. He looked upward towards the nearest tower. The guard was looking in the opposite direction. Now was the time. Newkirk took a deep breath and in a crouching run, made his way across the open land.

As soon as he had reached a good stand of brush, he squatted down behind it, breathing heavily. He still wasn't back to full form but good enough. He peered back through the darkness towards the camp. He was now about halfway between the fence and the woods. He froze as he spied the perimeter guard and his dog coming around the corner. They were headed towards the hole in the fence. If the guard saw it now, then Newkirk was sunk. He wasn't far enough away to escape into the woods before the dog would catch him. Holding his breath, he silently watched, sweat trickling down his back despite the cold. Step by step, the guard moved towards the spot while the dog began sniffing with interest at the ground. Newkirk could feel the adrenalin pumping through his system as he prepared to make a dash for the woods. Just as he was about to make his move, he heard a voice call. Sharply, Newkirk turned to see another guard appear around the corner the first one had so recently turned. The first guard turned and called back, then moved towards the newcomer. Newkirk watched a few moments more then fled silently into the woods.

Hogan wearily crossed the compound towards the barracks with Schultz trudging behind. As much as Hogan enjoyed the decent food at these dinners watching Klink and the Burkhalters dancing around each other was exhausting. Hogan wasn't entirely convinced that Gertrude was as bad as Klink thought she was, but she definitely wasn't for the faint of heart. She would eat someone like the spineless Wilhelm Klink alive. He shook his head with a soft laugh. It had been entertaining evening, that was for sure. He looked at his watch. It was past midnight. Hopefully Carter and LeBeau had returned safely with the escaped prisoners. He then frowned. He still hadn't come up with a good plan to extricate Newkirk from his difficulties with Reinhardt. As long as they didn't do anything obvious , say like blowing up a ball bearing plant, he thought they were safe but Hogan wasn't sure how patient Reinhardt would be. And even the lack of sabotage could prove to be their undoing. If Reinhardt was convinced the sabotage stopped because Hogan knew Newkirk was supposed to report any such plans to the Gestapo that alone could prove the Nazi was right. It was a tricky situation. Then there was Newkirk himself. Hogan was certain there was more to this story than Newkirk had admitted, but he couldn't get the Englishman to open up. He sighed. They sure hadn't covered any of this in Command School!

Schultz opened the barracks door and held it open for Hogan. "Good night, Colonel Hogan," he said and firmly bolted the door shut. Hogan stood in the darkness for a few minutes waiting for his eyes to adjust. He then strode over to the bunk serving as the entrance to the escape tunnel below, triggered the release mechanism and climbed down into the opening below. Kinch was sitting by the radio rapidly deciphering the coded message coming through.

"A problem?" asked Hogan looking around. He didn't see his other two men or even Newkirk for that matter.

Kinch finished his transcription and looked up. "Just a minor set-back," he said. "That was from the Underground. Carter and LeBeau met up with them to pick up the two prisoners, but they were surprised by a patrol of SS. The Underground wanted to let us know that they all escaped safely and that Carter and LeBeau should be here in a couple of hours with the guys from Stalag 2."

Hogan sighed in relief. He always worried when he sent men out, no matter how routine the mission and with the way things were right now, things were especially risky. At least they had word this time that Carter and LeBeau were merely delayed and not captured. After the last fiasco with Newkirk, he felt like some old mother hen. "Newkirk not down here with you?" he asked looking around as he settled into the chair next to Kinch.

Kinch shook his head. "Nope. I haven't seen him all night." He frowned slightly. "That's kind of odd now that I think about it. Lately, he's spent a fair amount of time down here when you guys are out on missions. Maybe he was just tired."

Hogan grunted. "I'm still not sure he's told us everything about what happened to him and knowing Newkirk, that can only lead to trouble."

Kinch grimaced. "Yeah, I know what you mean, Colonel. He doesn't quite seem himself. Seems preoccupied with something and I can't believe it would just be because of Reinhardt's threats. If there is something going on he hasn't told us about, he could easily go off half-cocked."

Hogan ran his hand through his dark hair. "That's what I'm afraid of. Well, I may talk to him again tomorrow. We have to figure out something to do about Reinhardt one way or the other but if there's something else going on, I want to know about it!"

Carter and LeBeau showed up two hours later with Captains Murray and Klaczynski in tow. Both American airmen had been shot down a few months earlier and were eager to get back into the fight. Hogan and his men would keep them hidden for a few days, outfit them with papers and clothing and send them on down the line to the next stop towards England.

"You guys all right?" asked Hogan as Carter and LeBeau cleaned up and changed back into their uniforms.

"Piece o' cake, Colonel!" grinned Carter tying up his boots.

"Oui," agreed LeBeau, "Other than that SS patrol we had no problems. The Underground created a diversion so that we could escape."

"Great," said Hogan turning to the ladder. We'll get these guys on their way in another day or two. Alright, let's all get to bed. Roll call comes pretty early you know and we don't want Klink to find anyone missing!"


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N Thanks again for all the encouraging reviews! I really appreciate them! I'm leaving town tomorrow for a week so depending on how things go, this may be the last update for awhile. Thanks again for staying with me!**

**CHAPTER 10**

Morning did arrive early and as the men filed out for that day's first roll call, Hogan discovered that his hopes for a peaceful day were shattered. Corporal Newkirk was missing.

"Colonel Hogan!" begged Schultz desperately, "Please tell me where Newkirk is! This is very, very bad! The Kommandant will be furious! The Gestapo will be furious! And I will end up on the Russian Front! Prisoners are supposed to stay IN the camp!"

Hogan's face was grim. "I'm sorry, Schultz, but I don't know where he is. He escaped without permission!" Hogan was furious. Once it became obvious Newkirk wasn't around, a couple of the other men in the barracks told Hogan that Newkirk had slipped out around 9 the previous night saying he needed to talk to Schultz but no one remembered seeing him return. It was obvious to Hogan that Newkirk had decided that rather than risk being sent to a labor camp or betraying his comrades, he would simply disappear however, that just created a whole new set of problems. Now Hogan and his men were again in serious jeopardy of being discovered. Reinhardt wasn't stupid.

A few moments later, a livid Colonel Klink came striding up to Hogan. "Colonel Hogan! What is the meaning of this! Where is Corporal Newkirk! When will your men ever learn; there are no successful escapes from Stalag 13!"

"Sir," replied Hogan, "I did not authorize this escape attempt. Believe me, with as much trouble as Corporal Newkirk is already in, he's the last man I'd let make such an attempt."

Klink studied him carefully then shook his head. "I believe you, Colonel Hogan but I can tell you this, when he is recaptured, things will go very hard for him. I had been given orders to turn him over to the Gestapo if he should ever attempt another escape. Regardless of what happens, he will not be returned to Stalag 13." He then turned and signaled Schultz to sound the alarm. The hunt was on.

It only took a few minutes for the guards to find the hole in the fence and with the dogs, then spread out into the field and woods to search. Hogan and his men watched, their expressions gloomy. "I can't believe Newkirk would make another escape like this!" said Carter looking especially worried. "Why would Newkirk go off like that? Doesn't he realize what could happen to him?"

"He knows, Carter," sighed Hogan. "I think he did it to protect us. If he's not here, he can't tell Reinhardt anything and they can't send him to some God-forsaken labor camp." He paused. "If they do catch him, I'm not sure there's going to be anything we can do for him."

The others stared at him in dismay. "But, we can't let the Boche 'ave him!" spat LeBeau furiously. "They will kill him in one of those camps!"

"I know!" snapped Hogan. "I'm not any happier about it than you are but if we try to rescue him, then we might as well close up shop and head home. There won't be any doubt in Reinhardt's mind if a lot of effort is put into the rescue of one insignificant British corporal. Newkirk started all of this when he brought that woman into camp and he's just made things a lot worse with this escape. I just hope he gets away or there will be hell to pay. As it is, we'll need to shut down everything completely for awhile. Reinhardt will have SS troops all over the place watching to see if we try anything."

"I bet the Underground will help Newkirk!" said Carter confidently. "He knows that route as well as anyone."

Hogan was silent for a minute. "My guess is he won't use the escape route but will try to make it on his own. He knows the Gestapo will be especially interested in finding him and I don't think he'll risk exposing our entire operation by leading them to our established route. At least I hope that's the case."

"Newkirk is very resourceful," said LeBeau quietly. "If any of us can make on his own, it is him."

"As long as he stays away from the frauleins," sighed Hogan and slowly turned to enter the barracks. Silently, the others followed. There was nothing they could do now but wait.

Newkirk silently made his way through the dark, freezing forest. He couldn't help but think back to the last time he'd traversed these woods. Without conscious thought, he found himself headed west, towards the Zimmer farm. He'd studied the area maps carefully trying to locate the small farm surrounded by woodlands. It hadn't been easy. Given his condition at the time, it had been very difficult for him to recall much about the trip from the farm into Hammelburg but after narrowing down his choices, he had finally decided on the most likely location. If he was wrong, well, he wouldn't have another chance.

Mile after weary mile he trudged until he finally reached the river. He knew the farm had been near the river so perhaps this was a good sign. Adjusting his pack, he carefully skirted the riverbank not wanting a repeat of his last encounter and continued west. After a good fifteen minutes of fighting his way through the underbrush and dead reeds, Newkirk paused to catch his breath. His ribs still ached and there was still a slight rasping wheeze in his lungs. "Peter Newkirk, if you've ever 'ad a stupider idea than this, I'd like to know what it was!" A snap of wood nearby put an abrupt end to his muttering and Newkirk froze as he listened desperately for any further sounds. Could he have been followed? Not likely and the Stalag 13 guards weren't exactly known for their stealth but a bloke could never be too careful. Newkirk silently pulled a knife from the sheath at his belt, his senses on high alert. The sound came again only closer. Newkirk whirled around, knife at the ready and with a cry of surprise found himself face to face with a startled cow. With a mournful lowing sound the cow backed up, eyeing Newkirk warily. Newkirk released his breath with a whoosh, falling back against a tree in relief.

Newkirk frowned as he stared at the thin creature before him. What was it doing loose in the woods? During wartime, livestock was extremely valuable and it was unlikely anyone would have willingly let this poor cow wander off unless, of course, the owners were no longer around to care. Could this have been one of the Zimmer cows? He pushed himself back to his feet and slowly approached the cow. It watched him solemnly as Newkirk tried to see where the cow had come from. He pulled out his electric torch and carefully studied the area. Yes! There was a path leading up from the river into the woods. Switching off the torch, he began to cautiously follow the path. With a snort the cow turned and followed. Newkirk considered trying to shoo it away but as unfamiliar as he was with cows, he wasn't sure how it might react and he didn't want it to make any more noise. With a sigh, he decided to ignore it.

He followed the trail for about a hundred yards until it reached an opening in the trees. Newkirk stopped and stared out across the open land. It was pitch black but he could just make out hulking, irregular shapes in the distance; the acrid scent of burnt wood still evident in the air. He'd found the farm. Newkirk shuddered and a wave of nausea washed over him as the day again flashed before his eyes. Now, at least, he could do what he could for the remains of the Zimmer family. It wasn't much but it was something. Slowly, he worked his way across the fallow fields, stumbling on the uneven ground. The cow continued to follow, seemingly content to have found some companionship at last. As Newkirk closed in on the burned out buildings, the smell became even stronger as did his nausea. He paused, rubbing his eyes. Could he do this? He couldn't remember feeling so guilty about anything in his life and in reality, _he_ hadn't murdered the Zimmers, the Nazis had, but still Newkirk could not shake the feeling of responsibility. If only he hadn't hidden in their barn…He took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

The farmyard was a picture of desolation. The charred ruins of the house and barn gave the appearance of some long dead civilization; a layer of gray ash blanketed everything. Newkirk stood silently and just stared, tears pricking the back of his eyes. Step by step he moved reluctantly into the barnyard. The roof of the barn had completely collapsed as had one of the walls. He wondered that the cow had managed to escape. Perhaps it hadn't been inside? He shook his head and turned towards the house. The walls still stood, their empty black windows stared wordlessly back at him. He turned away unable to bear their mute accusations and tried to place where he had stood all those weeks ago. Everything looked so different in the dark.

He cursed softly as he tripped over a pile of charred woods and with a stab of horror, realized he had literally stumbled upon the remains of the tool shed where Frau Zimmer and her son had burned to death. Newkirk scrambled backwards, his heart in his throat. He halted several feet away from the pile of rubble breathing heavily. God! What a nightmare. Were there any remains left of the two for him to bury? He wiped sweat from his face as he unshouldered his pack and dropped it to the ground. If this was the shed then Millie must be nearby. He felt as if his body was made of lead; every movement requiring an enormous amount of effort. He closed his eyes for a moment then turned his head to look beyond the shed.

It took him several long minutes before his eyes finally picked out a small mound lying in the center of the yard. Could that be her? Like a waking nightmare, he shuffled slowly towards the shape. He was desperate to see if it was the girl who had so bravely defended him yet he was equally desperate to run away and forget all of this. But he knew he couldn't do that. He should be ashamed of himself. All he needed to do was bury the body of a dead girl. What bravery was required for that? She, on the other hand, had stood up to the Gestapo and paid with her life. He cursed himself for his cowardice and forced himself onward until he stood with the mound at his feet. He pulled out his torch and flicked it on. He softly moaned. It was her.

For a moment all Newkirk could do was stare, tears making trails as they trickled through the dirt on his face. The animals had been at her; he had expected that but faced with the grisly reality of it was devastating. If only he could have gotten here sooner! Abruptly, a wave of pent-up grief overwhelmed him and he fell to his knees, as great sobs wracked his body. How long he lay there, he had no idea for the next thing he knew, he found himself lying exhausted on the frozen soil, his tears spent. He slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position. He felt drained and empty. He glanced at Millie's remains once more then struggled to his feet. He needed to find something with which to dig the graves. He didn't have much time but he wouldn't leave until he had accomplished his mission.

It took him awhile before he finally find an old rusted shovel hidden the weeds near the barn. It would have to do. He then considered where to bury the family. The ground was frozen but perhaps the heat from the fire in the barn or the house would have kept the soil friable. He studied the barn ruins and carefully threaded his way through the fallen timbers. He coughed and grimaced at the odor of the burned wood but he felt with its dirt floor, the barn was his best bet. He played his torch around the ground and found a relatively clear area and with a grunt, thrust the shovel into the soil.

It was hard packed but he was right, the soil was not frozen. It took him a couple of hours to finally carve a hole big enough into the surface of the barn floor for the remains of all three. He didn't expect to find much left of Frau Zimmer or Dieter. He went back outside, his face black with soot and sweat. He peered around and noticed a clothesline near the back of the house. He was exhausted but he was almost done. He stumbled along to the line and was pleased to see several sheets still hanging there limp and forlorn. He would need something to wrap the remains in. He glanced at his watch. Dawn was rapidly approaching. Damn. He may be forced to spend the night hiding here. Well, there was nothing to be done for it; his duty was clear.

The sun was just starting to rise in the east gently pushing back the dark curtain of night as Newkirk shoveled the last of the dirt onto the grave. He could barely stand at this point, his fatigue threatening to bring him to his knees. He knew he wouldn't be going anyplace today. Well, so be it. It would give him some time to come up with some kind of marker. He didn't want these brave people to be forgotten. He tamped down the soil and threw down the shovel. Turning he trudged wearily back outside and took a deep breath of the morning air. The cow still stood nearby placidly chewing her cud and Newkirk gave her a slight smile.

"Sorry there's not much I can do for you, darlin'," he said hoarsely. "I reckon you'll do all right on your own. Maybe some farmer'll find you." The cow lowed softly and continued to watch him. Newkirk searched for awhile among the ruins and finally found a couple of pieces of sound wood. Carefully he carved the names of Millie, Dieter, and Frau Zimmer into the soft wood of the cross piece. He realized he never even knew Millie's mother's name and it made him feel even more bereft. When he finished his makeshift cross, he carefully hammered it into the ground near the grave. Bowing his head, he silently said a little prayer to the fallen. He was not a religious man but it made him feel better for having done so.

"Good-bye, Millie, love," he whispered. "If I can 'elp your father or brother, I will. After what you did for me, it's the least I can do." He was about to leave when he stopped, stood at attention and gave them a sharp salute. Then, he turned and with a heavy sigh, slowly made his way out.

He stood silently outside the barn, his breath forming a misty cloud around him. The sun was rising in the east now, bathing the grisly remains of the house and barn with a rosy pink glow. What was he going to do now? He had papers and a change of clothing in his rucksack and could try catching a train but the Gestapo would be watching all the train stations in the area. He rubbed his eyes. They burned and felt gritty with fatigue. He was really too exhausted to go any further. He looked around considering possible options and stared thoughtfully at the house. Picking up his rucksack, he carefully made his way around to the back side of the house and with a small nod of satisfaction found the door to the root cellar. Being underground, it would have been protected from the fire and probably had food stored in there as well. It would be a good place to spend the day and rest up at least.

The door was set into a low mound adjacent to the house. It was locked but it didn't take long for Newkirk to pick the lock and swing the door open. Flashing his torch around the black space, he noticed a lantern sitting on a shelf by the doorway. Preferring to save his batteries, he lit the lantern and carefully made his way down the stairs. It was about ten feet square with two walls lined with shelves full of jars. Along the other wall were sacks piled upon one another. A quick look showed these to be full of potatoes, onions, apples and other root vegetables; enough to get the small family through the winter. Newkirk sighed again, closed the door and settled in for the day. Soon, he would be on his way home.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N : A short chapter but I had a little spare time on my trip so I thought I would go ahead and post it. Hope you enjoy it.**

**CHAPTER 11**

Reinhardt was furious. He had just received notice from Colonel Klink that the Englander, Newkirk, had escaped again! Did Klink have a revolving door in that camp? Prisoners seemed to come and go at will. Reinhardt stood up and began pacing his office deep in thought. He had men watching all the suspected Underground people so if Newkirk contacted any of them for assistance, Reinhardt would know immediately but only if he contacted someone in or around Hammelburg. He turned and studied the map on his wall. Where would the Englander go? What route? Switzerland was the obvious destination; it was the only neutral country left for all practical purposes, but would he go by foot? Train? Reinhardt had already sent men to watch the trains and distributed photos of the escaped prisoner but Reinhardt believed Newkirk to be an especially wily one and not likely to make the mistakes that tripped up most escapees.

Reinhardt sighed and started to turn away from the map then froze. He blinked a couple of times as a thought hit him – the Zimmer farm! Although they had burned the farm, including Frau Zimmer and her son, they had left the body of the girl lying in the barnyard. Newkirk had been devastated by their deaths and Reinhardt wouldn't put it past him to try and return to the farm and bury the girl. Reinhardt smiled and reached for the telephone. With any luck, they would have Newkirk back in custody within a few hours but he would not be returning to Stalag 13.

Newkirk woke up to total darkness. He sat up, his heart beating wildly until he finally remembered where he was – the root cellar on the Zimmer farm. He took a deep breath and released it as he leaned weakly against the pile of potatoes behind him. Then he laughed softly. He was definitely getting too old for this foolishness! He felt around until he found his electric torch and checked his watch. It was 3:00 pm. He sighed. He knew he needed to get going soon. He had debated about whether or not to try taking the trains but decided against it. That would only have worked if he had boarded one shortly after his escape and before Reinhardt sounded the alert. Now the stations around Hammelburg would be swarming with Gestapo. He might be able to try farther out but now he needed to get out of the area as quickly as possible. His eyes widened and he cursed softly as he suddenly realized the danger he was in. Surely it would occur to Reinhardt to check the Zimmer farm! Why hadn't that occurred to him earlier! He never should have stayed here after burying the Zimmers. Bloody hell!

Newkirk scrambled to his feet and swung the torch around as he frantically gathered his belongings and threw a variety of food into his rucksack. He didn't know where he would find more so he'd better take what he could now. Shouldering the heavy pack, he cautiously approached the root cellar door and listened carefully. Except for the whistling of the wind, all seemed quiet. Holding his breath, he slowly pushed open the door and looked out. It was a gray, drizzly day with a raw bitter cold that seeped into a man's bones. Newkirk shivered and stepped out into the wind. The river was to the west. That would lead him out of the woods eventually. He wanted to avoid the roads as long as possible. He felt his stomach flutter with nervous tension. He had no reason to believe the Nazis had arrived but something just didn't feel right. He mentally shook himself for being such a nervous Nelly and started towards the woods.

He hadn't made it twenty feet when he heard the sound of a vehicle coming up the road. He whirled around and spotted a truck rumbling up the rutted farm road towards him. He didn't think they had spotted him yet but it wouldn't take long. Damn! He knew it was useless, but Newkirk turned and fled deeper into the woods, slipping and sliding on the wet leaves and tripping over dead branches. He had to find someplace to hide and fast! Panting heavily, he looked wildly about him but saw nothing but trees and more trees. Cursing to himself and his stupidity, he simply kept running. Then he heard the dogs. Now he knew it was only a matter of time. Short of throwing himself in the river, there was no way to hide his scent but perhaps that was his only choice. He could drown or die from hypothermia in the freezing water or he could surrender to Rheinhardt and his goons. Not much of a choice, he thought grimly but veered towards the river nevertheless.

He might have even made it had he not tried jumping over a fallen tree and instead of landing on solid ground, he found himself trapped in a large tangle of briars. Desperately, he tried to untangle himself from the thorns while all the time he could hear the dogs getting closer and closer, their baying chilling his blood. Blood from numerous deep scratches trickled down his face and into his eyes as he struggled to get clear but it seemed as if the for every thorny branch he pulled away, two more took its place. His actions became more and more frenzied as the first of the Alsatians appeared of the top of the ridge, its handler barely able to control the snarling animal.

Newkirk finally pulled himself free of the briars and scrambled to his feet to flee but it was then the dog launched itself at him sinking its teeth deep into his leg. Newkirk screamed in pain and tried to push the dog off him. Laughing, the Nazi handler watched the dog maul Newkirk a moment or two longer before finally calling the dog off. Newkirk lay panting on the ground, his wounded leg throbbing with pain, warm blood soaking the fabric of his trousers. It wasn't long before two more dogs arrived howling and barking with excitement. Newkirk slowly gathered himself together and struggled to his feet and with a sigh of resignation turned to face his captors.

Behind him now stood Captain Reinhardt, his Luger aimed directed at Newkirk's heart. Three more men in addition to the dog handlers, stood arrayed behind the captain, their rifles held at the ready all watching Newkirk intently.

"Good afternoon, Corporal," said the captain pleasantly. "So nice to see you again."

"Can't say the feeling's mutual. Sir" growled Newkirk irritably as he swiped at the blood still trickling down his face. He glared as one of the SS men yanked the rucksack from Newkirk's back. "Watch it, mate!"

Reinhardt watched impassively. "We had an agreement, Corporal. I am most disappointed that you did not uphold your part of the bargain."

"What agreement?" spat Newkirk. "I never made no bloody agreement with the likes of you!"

Reinhardt stepped closer, shaking his head is dismay. "Oh but you did, Corporal. You were to inform me of any of Colonel Hogan's plans regarding escapes or sabotage and in return we would not send you to a labor camp plus Herr Zimmer and his son would perhaps be allowed to live a bit longer. But, by escaping all agreements are off."

Newkirk's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Waddaya mean by that?"

"Obviously, you will not be returning to Stalag 13 but will now serve as a coal miner in Poland. I'm afraid the turnover in those mines is very high and they are constantly in need of new workers." Reinhardt smiled coldly. "Your days of easy living are over, Corporal. Compared to the mines, life in the POW camp is like a holiday resort. You will be sorry you ever left."

Newkirk's jaw tightened. "And the Zimmers?"

Reinhardt stared coldly at his prisoner. "Let us just say that the whole family may soon be reunited."

He gave a jerk of his head and two of the soldiers converged on Newkirk and began to drag him to the waiting truck. Newkirk slipped out of their grasp and turned to face Reinhardt once more. He lurched forward and grabbed Reinhardt's lapels. "I will kill you, you Nazi bastard," he hissed furiously, "and sendin' me to some bloody labor camp won't change that!" The guards quickly grabbed him once more and hauled him roughly back to the truck.

Reinhardt straightened his coat and frowned irritably as he watched his men manhandle the Englander into the truck. He was annoyed that he had lost his contact within Stalag 13 but so be it. Newkirk was worthless to him now. There would be other opportunities, but men like this British corporal must be punished as a lesson to others. It wasn't likely Newkirk would last more than five or six months, few did in those mines. Well, at the very least it would be one less Allied soldier for the Gestapo to worry about. Reinhardt smiled to himself and climbed into the cab of the truck. Perhaps the day hadn't been a complete loss after all.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Colonel Klink slowly replaced the phone receiver into its cradle. He suddenly felt very tired. With a sigh, he pushed the button on his intercom and spoke to his secretary. "Fraulein Helga, please have Sergeant Schultz bring Colonel Hogan to my office immediately." Sitting back in his chair, he rubbed his eyes and looked out his window at the prisoners in the parade ground. Despite his job as camp Kommandant, he didn't hate the prisoners. Yes, Klink was a career Luftwaffe officer, but he really wasn't a soldier and being the Kommandant of a POW camp suited him much better than any battle assignment. Certainly the prisoners were aggravating what with their constant demands and escape attempts but fortunately for Klink, none had been truly successful. It was his one claim to fame. Oh, if he was to admit it, deep down, he knew something odd was going on in this camp and had been ever since the arrival of Colonel Hogan two years before, but Klink preferred to keep his blinders firmly in place and allowed himself to be steered away from anything too suspicious. Klink simply didn't like to make waves and at this late date, if anything untoward was discovered happening in the camp, Klink knew he would be held directly responsible and that would undoubtedly lead directly to the Russian Front…or worse. He would be glad when this war was finally over.

His reverie was disturbed by a knock at the door quickly followed by the arrival of Hogan and Schultz. "You sent for me, Colonel?" asked Hogan eagerly. "Any news on Corporal Newkirk?" The American stopped and studied Klink's grim face. "Kommandant?"

Klink sighed again. "Yes, Hogan, I have news. I just heard from Captain Reinhardt. Corporal Newkirk has been recaptured."

Hogan said nothing for a moment. Something was obviously wrong. "And?"

"As I warned you before, he will not be returning to Stalag 13. He has been assigned to a labor camp somewhere in Poland to work in a coal mine."

"What!" demanded Hogan angrily. He was fully aware that Newkirk had been threatened with this if he escaped again but Hogan was determined to fight it every inch of the way. "You can't do that! That's against the Geneva Convention!"

Klink rolled his eyes. Hogan threw that phrase around at the least provocation. Sometimes Klink wondered if the American had actually even read the document! "I'm sorry Colonel, but yes it _is_ allowable. The Geneva Convention states that prisoners under the rank of sergeant may be used in labor as long as it is not directly related to the war effort as I am sure you are aware."

"And mining coal isn't?" snapped Hogan angrily.

"Technically, no" replied Klink impatiently. "Although coal can be used in the war effort, it has even more uses unrelated to war such as heating homes."

Hogan grunted skeptically. Sure coal could be used to heat homes and undoubtedly some would be designated for civilian use but Hogan had no doubts the majority of it would be going into the war effort. Even it wasn't against the Geneva Convention, Hogan had heard enough about those mines to know the survival rate was abysmally low and almost none survived longer than a year. It was for all practical purposes a death sentence.

"Colonel Klink," persisted Hogan, "you know as well as I do that few prisoners ever return from those mines alive. You might as well shoot him right now and be done with it!"

Klink looked even more unhappy. "Colonel Hogan, this is not my choice. Newkirk made his decision when he attempted another escape. The Gestapo have him now and General Burkhalter has signed off on the transfer of Corporal Newkirk into their custody and as he is no longer an official prisoner of this camp, I have no further responsibility for him and for that matter, neither do you." Klink sighed and looked down at his desk for a moment. "Colonel," he began, his voice weary, "I would not wish Newkirk's fate on any prisoner here, and I wish I could prevent it, but there is nothing I can do for him now. It is out of my hands."

Hogan's shoulders slumped in resignation. He knew Klink was right. If Burkhalter had officially okayed the transfer then Newkirk was indeed out of Klink's control but dammit, he was not going to give up. If there was any way they could rescue Newkirk without destroying everything they had worked to build here then they would do it.

With a heavy heart, Hogan pulled open the door to Barracks 2 where Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau stood watching him expectantly. They exchanged worried glances as they noted the grim expression on Colonel Hogan's face.

"Did the find him, Colonel?" asked Kinch slowly.

Hogan sighed heavily. "Yeah. The Gestapo picked him up. Klink didn't say where."

Again there was a long silence. "Is…is he dead?" asked Carter softly, his eyes wide with worry.

Hogan shook his head. "At least I don't think so." He sighed again and turned to face his men. "They're shipping him to a labor camp in Poland to work in the mines."

The three men stood silently as the reality of Newkirk's fate sank in. "But Colonel," said LeBeau angrily, "We have heard stories of those camps! They are death traps!"

"_I know that LeBeau_!" snapped Hogan angrily. "If we can figure something out that won't jeopardize our operation here, we'll rescue him, but at the moment, I'll be damned if I can figure out what that might be. Newkirk may very well have just signed his own death warrant when he decided to take off." He rubbed his eyes wearily wishing the growing pain in his head would go away. He turned to Sgt. Kinchloe. "Kinch, get on the radio and contact the Underground. Tell them what's happened and see if they can find out anymore about where he's being sent. Until we know that, there's nothing we can do to help him."

"And even then…" began Carter unhappily.

Hogan nodded grimly. "And even then…"

XXXXXX

Newkirk stood silently as he surveyed his new surroundings. He was crammed in the back corner of a railroad boxcar along with about fifty other men, all bound for the mines in Poland. The death rate in the mines was so high the Nazis needed a constant influx of new workers to keep the mines going. The smell of unwashed bodies, sewage and vomit threatened to gag Newkirk but he held himself together. His body ached from the beating he'd received at the hands of the Gestapo after his recapture not to mention the pain from that damned dog's bite. He knew he'd done the right thing by taking off but at the moment, it was hard to believe. He desperately wished himself back safe and sound in Barracks 2 with his mates but he knew those days were over. He sighed wearily and leaned against the rough wood of the boxcar. In his current condition, he knew his career as a miner in a Nazi coal mine was likely to be short-lived. If he had any hope of escape it would have to be soon. The longer he was in captivity the harder it would be.

He looked critically at his fellow captives. Many were older men or young teens, all appeared beaten, starved and thoroughly demoralized. Unlikely he'd find any help amongst this lot. He turned his attention to the side of the boxcar. He experimentally pushed at the thick wooden slats but was quickly discouraged. There was a reason the Nazis chose these sturdy boxcars to transport prisoners. Breaking out would take some serious effort not mention an assortment of heavy-duty tools. He shook his head in disgust. Escape would have to occur somewhere en route, assuming the Krauts ever let them out or once they reached their destination but he was discouraged by his chances. It was one thing to escape from a POW camp, an entirely different prospect trying to escape from a heavily guarded coal mine but he did have a lot of experience escaping, so there was always hope!

The trip took six days and with each passing day, the misery within the car increased. Two men and a boy had died but thankfully the cold kept the corpses from becoming too putrid. Newkirk had lost all feeling in his feet and would sell his soul for a drink of water. Every so often, when the train stopped in a station, the Krauts would open the doors and pass up a bucket of water or once even hosed them down with a fire hose. So now instead of just being cold, they were cold and wet. That was the only time Newkirk appreciated the warm press of bodies. It kept them all from dying of hypothermia.

When exhaustion finally overwhelmed him, Newkirk was able to doze on his feet but he never really slept. He was constantly barraged by the eerie sound of moans, sobs and even the low chant of prayers in a variety of languages creating an unending nightmarish environment. Sometimes he wasn't sure if he was awake or asleep. As far as he could tell, he was the only Englishman in the group and wasn't sure any of the others even spoke English. Fortunately, he spoke enough German to understand some of what was going on around him.

It was late one night when the train lurched to stop for the last time. The doors were jerked open and the glare of spotlights garishly illuminated the interior of the cars blinding the inhabitants. "Raus!" came the harsh cry of the guards up and down the train, ordering the disoriented prisoners from several of the cars.

Newkirk jumped from the car and stumbled forward a few feet before gaining his balance. He blinked in the bright lights trying to get a feel of his new environment. The train was pulled up along a siding where the last several box cars disgorged their contents. They were just outside an industrial complex. He could make out the buildings and wagons full of what looked like coal. Newkirk shivered in the freezing night air. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets wishing he had the greatcoat he'd left behind at Stalag 13 but some of the men were in much worse shape than he. The soldiers were herding the prisoners towards various roadways leading into the complex. Newkirk found himself and those from his boxcar being herded up a rutted roadway leading into the dark woods. Although the Germans and dogs were making enough ruckus to wake the dead, the prisoners moved silently ahead seemingly resigned to their fate.

"Hey mate!" Newkirk turned to see a small stocky man in the remains of a British infantry uniform sidle up beside him. "Din't think I'd see anyone from home in this hellhole!" He grinned showing gaps in his teeth. "Name's Private Willie Jones."

Newkirk studied him for a moment before replying. "Corporal Peter Newkirk. You know anything about this place?"

Willie shrugged. "Well, bein' soldiers of the Crown, we _should_ be goin' to Stalag VIIIB. They supply workers to this coal mine among other places. I knew a few lads at Stalag XXI who were sent there."

Newkirk frowned. "So, they're takin' us to a camp?"

Willie sighed. "Wouldn't count on it, mate. If the Krauts wanna get rid o' you, then send you off to work with the Poles and Russians in the mines and bypass the camp all together. Me? I tried to escape one too many times and the Kommandant at me last camp got in some hot water. Gestapo ordered me sent here directly after they caught me."

Newkirk clenched his jaw. This wasn't good. If he was put with the other British prisoners then he could count on at least some protection by way of the Geneva Convention and maybe even receive Red Cross parcels. However, if he was thrown in with the civilian slave labor contingent, the chances of survival dropped dramatically.

"We gotta get outta here," muttered Newkirk looking around furtively. "I'm not spendin' me last days digging coal for the bloody krauts!"

Willie's eyes brightened. "I'm in!" he whispered eagerly as he looked around thoughtfully. The area was swarming with armed soldiers, many with dogs in tow. "Hmm. Don't look very likely here though."

Newkirk's eyes were analyzing the road around them. It was pitch black in the woods beyond the reach of the lights overhead. Could they slip off into the woods? As he was thinking this, he spotted a man some rows ahead dart off into the brush and into the woods. His pulse rising, Newkirk could feel himself tensing to do the same when a shot rang out from the depths of the forest. A few moments later, a couple of soldiers came out dragging the body of the unfortunate prisoner between them. They dumped his body alongside the road as a warning to the others then turned and returned to the woods. Obviously, the Germans knew their business. Newkirk's shoulders slumped as he exchanged discouraged glances with Jones. They'd have to think of something else and soon.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N**: **I survived our trip to Disneyland and am hoping to finish this story soon as I want to participate in National Novel Writing Month again this November. I thank you all for your support and sticking with me!

**CHAPTER 13**

Newkirk and Jones trudged through the freezing night along with the rest of the prisoners wondering what their fate would be. Newkirk kept his eyes and ears open, alert for any possible opportunities for escape but the Germans were especially vigilant as they herded the prisoners along. It took a couple of hours for all of them to finally reach the mine where a number of wooden barracks huddled forlornly behind a tall fence of barbed wire. Quickly and efficiently, the prisoners were distributed among the different barracks and locked in.

Newkirk and Jones managed to stay together as they entered the dark barracks peering through the gloom. "Just take any empty bunk," an irritated voice muttered in German. Newkirk found the closest empty bunk and climbed into it. He heard Jones and the four others that had entered with them fumble around as they found others. The bunks were nothing more than hard wooden platforms with a single blanket. Newkirk found himself yearning for the straw mattress he'd had back in Stalag 13. He had the feeling his last camp was going to be a country club compared to this one. However, it was still a vast improvement over the boxcar and as he was thoroughly exhausted and it only took a few moments before he was deeply asleep.

The sun wasn't even up when the door slammed open and the guard yelled, "Raus, raus!" prodding the dazed prisoners to their feet and out the door for roll call. Newkirk huddled in his jacket against the pre-dawn chill and watched as another group of prisoners came stumbling in through the gates. They immediately dispersed and entered the various barracks. The night shift had returned. Roll call proceeded smoothly and soon the men were on their way out the gate and towards the mine.

Again, the prisoners were silent as they shuffled forward. Newkirk glanced at his new companions and frowned at the starved, beaten look of them. "Where we going, mate?" he muttered to the man next to him. For a moment the man stared at him surprise.

"You are an Englander?" he asked in German. "Why are you not with the other POW's?"

Newkirk shrugged. "Gestapo thought this place might be more to me likin' if you know what I mean."

The man stared at him a moment longer, then shook his head. "Then they might as well have shot you when they captured you. The result will be the same." Then he sighed and continued. "We are going down to Level 6 to dig out the latest cave-in. Five men died in that one. I hope you are not claustrophobic."

Newkirk swallowed. He'd been working underground for more than two years now but he knew the tunnels at Stalag 13 were not exactly your standard excavation. He had experienced his share of cave-ins but he always knew his mates would be there to pull him out. Here? Unlikely. He knew coal mines could go down thousands of feet and if you were trapped, it would be nearly impossible to be rescued, not that the Krauts were likely to bother. They'd just ship in some new slave laborers.

Newkirk looked around as they approached the mine. He could see a large number of men all engaged in some kind of labor. Several wore the remnants of British uniforms but they were too far for him to talk to. The man next to him started talking again.

"The Englanders do not go down in the mines as much," he commented following Newkirk's gaze. "They generally work in the upper levels or out in the sand pits. Some are also sent to the concrete plant." He nodded towards another group of men standing near the mine entrance smoking. "Those are the Polish miners," he said. "They are treated the best by the Nazis since their knowledge of the mines is very valuable. You and me?" he shrugged. "We are expendable. We do the worst, most dangerous work, usually down in Level 6. I have been here two months and I am the only one left of the thirty men I arrived with."

Newkirk digested this information. "Anyone ever escape from here?"

The man gave a bitter laugh. "Only when they die."

They had now reached the shaft elevator that would take them down into the mine. Newkirk could feel his heart begin to speed up. He exchanged glances with Jones who now stood beside him as they waited their turn. Time after time, the platform filled with men then disappeared below eventually returning with the exhausted night time workers who stumbled out and made their way towards their barracks.

As Newkirk approached the car a man handed him an ID tag and a small hand held carbide lamp. He entered the elevator cage with the rest of the men, his mouth dry. He gasped as the cage abruptly plummeted into the darkness. He could barely make out the walls of rock around him as they plunged further and further into the pit below. As they passed the upper levels of the mine, Newkirk could see well-lit platforms where men waited to be taken back to the top.

It seemed an eternity before they finally reached the bottom of the shaft and lowest level of the mine. The lighting here barely pushed back the blackness and Newkirk was acutely aware of the tons of earth pressing down on him from above. It was cold and wet. The sound of dripping water was everywhere.

The men were silent as they descended from the cage onto the platform. As they were herded towards one of the tunnels leading off from the main area, Newkirk could hear Jones mutter, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."

The man nearest them gave a grim chuckle. "Gentlemen, welcome to Hell."

The men were led deeper and deeper down the tunnel. Soon the inch of water on the floor of the passageway turned into a foot and before long they were wading through water past their knees. Newkirk shivered. The water was freezing and the air not much warmer. A string of lights sputtered along the roof of the narrow passage just barely lighting their way. Eventually they reached an area that had been widened into a chamber where the areas of the floor stood above the water. Here a guard stood watching their approach with little interest. A pile of baskets and tools stood nearby. A prisoner began handing them out. It became quickly apparent that they would be clearing debris from the tunnel farther ahead, piling it into the baskets and hauling it out to another area to dump. Newkirk took a shovel while Jones grabbed a basket. They followed the others to the cave in and began work. Newkirk's new life had begun.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Newkirk stood in line at the top of the shaft waiting for the cage to come and get them. He had been at the mines for over two months now as far as he could reckon. One day was pretty much like another and sometimes he lost track. Each day was filled with endless backbreaking labor, gnawing hunger and pain; pain from the cold, pain from the frequent beatings, pain from overwork. It simply never ended.

It was only the beginning of the shift and the men stood silent and dispirited. Going down into the bowels of the earth got more difficult each day. It was hard to tell one man from another. All were skeletally thin and covered with an impenetrable layer of coal dust that was impossible to remove given their limited access to soap and water yet at the same time they were constantly wet from the flooded tunnels and dripping ceilings. Newkirk and several of the men around him coughed deep, phlegmy coughs. They were all sick and inhaling coal dust day in and day out hadn't helped.

Newkirk was sometimes amazed that he was still alive. Poor old Willie Jones had been killed two weeks ago in one of the frequent cave-ins that plagued the mines. Newkirk had just missed being crushed by that one although he still suffered from blinding headaches resulting from the rock that had knocked him senseless.

Despite the unrelenting misery, there had been a couple of bright moments. Twice a British POW had passed him some extra food. Newkirk, as a rule, was kept away from the other British prisoners but sometimes meetings were unavoidable. The other man, a private from London, had been shocked to discover Newkirk amongst the civilian slave laborers and managed to smuggle some food to him. Those two instances had done much to boost Newkirk's spirits but the private had since been transferred elsewhere and with the death of Willie, Newkirk was on his own once more.

As Newkirk stood on the edge of the waiting group, he glanced around the yard at the men and boys moving great carts of coal from one area to another. He frowned as he noticed a young man struggling to control the draft horses pulling one of the carts. Something had upset the large animals and they were snorting and bucking in their harness. Finally one of them broke and as hard as the boy tried, he couldn't hold on and lost control of the partially full coal cart as the wild beasts began charging towards a couple of guards. The boy shouted a warning but the guards were slow to react and one was knocked down by the careening cart with the other just barely able to hurl himself out of the way. Several other prisoners ran forward and grabbed onto the panicky horses finally pulling them to a halt.

The one guard climbed to his feet, his face black with fury. Blood trickled down the side of his face. Another guard had grabbed hold of the hapless youth and hauled him over to the others. Newkirk frowned. The boy couldn't have been any more than 15 or 16 and he stared at the guards in obvious terror, apologizing over and over. With a snarl, the guard backhanded the boy hard across the face drawing blood.

"You stupid pig!" the guard shouted striking the boy again. "You could have killed me!"

"I am sorry, sir!" cried the boy, "Please, it was an accident! Something scared the horses!"

"_You_, most likely!" snapped the guard angrily. "I should just shoot you, you miserable son of a bitch, but I think 25 lashes instead will make a more lasting impression."

Suddenly, Newkirk had had enough. He'd seen the whole thing. It hadn't been the boy's fault. He was hardly strong enough to handle those huge draft horses to begin with. He wasn't just going to stand by and let them beat this boy to death.

"Leave 'im alone!" shouted Newkirk pushing forward through the crowd of men. "'E lost control of the 'orses. It wasn't 'is fault!"

Now the guard turned on Newkirk staring at him through narrowed eyes. Newkirk instantly recognized the type. The guard was a natural bully who liked to throw his weight around. "So," the guard said slowly, "Perhaps _you_ would be willing to take his place?"

Newkirk's mouth went dry. He glanced at the boy who stared at him with wide blue eyes. Suddenly, Newkirk was reminded of another similar pair of eyes belonging to a young girl. It was like a punch to the gut. "What's your name, boy?" Newkirk asked abruptly.

The boy hesitated, glancing at the guard then said hoarsely,"Franz. Franz Zimmer."

Newkirk closed his eyes for just a moment as the cold realization washed over him. Despite all odds, he had found Millie's brother. Now there was no doubt in his mind what he must do. He opened his eyes and glared at the guard. "Yeah," he said loudly, stepping forward. "I'll accept 'is punishment and anythin' else you bloody Krauts wanna dish out. Just leave the boy alone."

The guard grinned showing stained, uneven teeth. This was more to his liking. Abusing children really didn't give him any satisfaction. It was simply too easy. The fact that this prisoner was an Englander just sweetened the pot. He could never be as free with punishment when it came to the English POWs as he would like but here was a perfect opportunity. "Release the boy," he said softly, his piggy eyes never leaving Newkirk's. "The Englander will take his place."

The guard released Franz who immediately ran to the side of an older man who had been standing anxiously near the edge of the crowd. Newkirk could see Dieter's face reflected in the man's and knew this was Millie's father. The man stared at Newkirk, his thanks evident in his expression. _If only you knew who I really am_, thought Newkirk grimly as one of the guards grabbed him roughly by the arm and dragged him to a post in the center of the yard where public punishments were carried out. Meanwhile the other guards herded the prisoners into the yard to watch and take warning.

Newkirk shivered in the freezing cold winter air as they stripped off his jacket and shirt and tied his hands to a ring above his head. He tensed as he heard the guard practice a few times with the whip. They always did that, he knew, to just make it that much more unbearable for the waiting prisoners. He found himself thinking about home for a moment and was unprepared for the first slash of fire across his back. He cried out in pain and surprise then choked back a second cry as the next bite of the lash cut through his soft flesh. The whip fell again and again and Newkirk soon lost count as the agony became continuous. Soon he couldn't distinguish new pain from the old. At some point, he blacked out only to be returned to consciousness after being drenched with a bucket of icy water. For just a moment, the water numbed him to the point that his pain was almost tolerable but then the whip fell again and the unrestrained pain resurged. Finally, after what had seemed like a lifetime, the lash fell silent. Newkirk hung from the ring gasping and moaning softly. He had managed to keep from screaming but just barely.

Slowly, painfully, he managed to get his feet under him to ease the pain in his arm and shoulders. He was shivering violently between the shock of the flogging and the intense cold. He suddenly felt very, very sleepy. _Maybe I could just go to sleep_, he thought distantly, _and this would all end_. But that was not to be. He eventually became aware of someone cutting his bonds and supporting him as his knees collapsed. He could hear voices in the distance but he chose to ignore them and allowed himself to sink into darkness and blessed oblivion.

Pain. Horrible, agonizing pain. That was the first thought that came to Newkirk's mind as he slowly regained consciousness. He was lying on his stomach on something hard. He could tell by the relative warmth that he was no longer outside at any rate. He could hear soft voices above him but he couldn't quite make out what they were saying. Then his world exploded into fire and he screamed and descended into the void once more.

When he resurfaced again, the pain was still there but muted a bit. As long as he didn't move, it was almost bearable. He opened his eyes and realized he was in the infirmary. Men were allowed a day or two at most there then sent back to work or death. A movement in the corner of his eye soon materialized into the face of Franz Zimmer looking at him with great concern.

"Sir?" the boy asked. "Are you awake?"

Newkirk grunted softly. It was about all the sound he could produce without adding to his misery. The boy bit his lip then offered Newkirk a cup of water. Gently, he held it to the injured man's lips helping him to drink. Newkirk sighed with relief. He hadn't realized how parched he was. "Thanks, mate," he whispered.

The boy nodded but still looked miserable. "You saved me," he said finally. "Why did you do that?"

Newkirk closed his eyes and ignored the question. That was something he wasn't ready to answer quite yet. He knew he needed to tell Franz and his father who he really was. He didn't think they would be quite so grateful to him then. But he wasn't in any shape to confess his sins to them right now. He sighed inwardly. He could take a hundred beatings for this boy and it still wouldn't come close to atoning for what he'd done to this family. Yes, there was no doubt now; he _was_ in Hell.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

Colonel Hogan sat on his bunk studying the latest German code book the underground had managed to steal from a drunken Wehrmacht captain in town. They would be sending the information with the four escaped POW's from Stalag 2 within the next few days. They were just waiting for London to give them the go-ahead.

With a sigh, he closed the book and put it away. He looked outside. It was snowing again. It had been a harsh, bitter winter this year and many of the men had fallen ill in camp. Granted, Stalag 13 was deluxe accommodations compared to some of the POW camps but still it _was _a prisoner of war camp and conditions were pretty Spartan. It suddenly occurred to him that it had been three months this very day since Newkirk had disappeared and still there had been no word of where he'd been sent , assuming of course he'd been sent anywhere. It was certainly conceivable that the Gestapo had simply taken him out someplace and shot him. Hogan rubbed his face wearily. He still hadn't replaced Newkirk on the team although he knew he needed to. Somehow, that would make it seem so final. Even if they did locate the Englishman, he wouldn't be returning to Stalag 13 so it made no sense not to add another man. Being shorthanded had made some of their missions more difficult but Hogan still hadn't acted. For one thing, it would be difficult to find another man with Newkirk's particular skill set. He smiled ruefully. Not a lot of prisoners admitted to be expert safecrackers and pickpockets. They had only been back in business a few weeks but it almost was if they had never stopped.

He looked up at the sound of a knock at his door. "Come in."

Sgt. Carter entered quickly looking excited. "Colonel Hogan! Kinch says he's got someone from the Underground on the radio and they have news on Newkirk!"

Hogan stared at Carter for just a moment before leaping to his feet and striding out the door. Within moments both he and Carter had joined Kinch and LeBeau in the tunnel by the wireless.

"Riding Hood, can you repeat last?" Kinch was frowning as he adjusted the knobs trying to improve their reception.

A moment later a woman's voice came through. "Papa Bear, we have located your missing Baby Bear. I repeat, we have located Baby Bear. Can we meet?"

Kinch glanced at Hogan who nodded. "Tell her to meet us at the usual rendezvous spot. Say tomorrow night at 0200 hours. Then we'll bring her in through the tunnel."

Kinch repeated the message and signed off. He turned to look at the others. "What do you think, Colonel? Do you think they've really found Newkirk?"

"Why would they say they had if they hadn't?" asked Carter excitedly. "I'm sure they've found him! Then we can go rescue him!"

"Carter," sighed Hogan turning to the young man, "We don't even know if Newkirk is still alive and even if he is, if he's in Poland it's going to be impossible to get there. Granted we have certain resources that you basic POW doesn't but that doesn't mean we can just hop a train to Poland whenever we want. We'll just have to wait and see what Riding Hood has to tell us."

It was a very long twenty four hours as Hogan and his men waited for the appointed hour. Carter and LeBeau went out shortly after midnight to ensure they arrived at the rendezvous spot on time. It was close to 3 am when they finally returned with a pleasant-faced middle aged woman in tow. They had worked with this woman before and knew she was reliable.

"Good evening, Colonel Hogan," she greeted Hogan as she reached the bottom of the escape tunnel ladder. "The weather tonight is abysmal."

"Thanks for coming, Riding Hood," replied Hogan leading her to a nearby chair and handing her a cup of coffee.

She closed her eyes in rapture at her first taste of real coffee in months. She smiled broadly then sighed. "I know you are anxious to hear about your man, Corporal Newkirk. So let me get on with it. I need to get back before the weather gets much worse."

"You said you found him?" asked LeBeau stepping forward. "Is he alive?"

She nodded. "At least he was as of a couple of weeks ago. He has been sent to the coal mines in Sosnoweic. That is in southern Poland, close to 600 kilometers from here. There is a POW camp there that feeds laborers to the mines as well as to other industries in the area but your man was not assigned to Stalag VIIIB which is why he did not show up on the records. He was put in with a contingent of slave laborers from Germany and Holland. "

The men were silent. They were fully aware of what that meant. If a POW was dropped from official records, it was with the assumption he would be dead before long. "Do you know anything about this camp?" asked Hogan quietly.

Riding Hood sighed. "Not much. The camp itself is massive with thousands of prisoners in a complex of camps. The prisoners are primarily enlisted men and noncommissioned officers so can be used as laborers. The POWs are generally used in the mines as support for the Polish miners but the worst jobs are given to the slave laborers. The life expectancy is needless to say, relatively short for those men. That would include your corporal."

"How do you know he's there for sure?" asked Kinch with a frown.

"One of the Polish miners managed to escape about two weeks ago. They have more freedom than most of the workers thus more opportunities. He wants to get to Spain. Anyway, we asked him about Corporal Newkirk since you believed he had been sent to a mine someplace. The miner actually knew of your man. It seems the Englander made quite an impression on the Pole when he took the punishment intended for a young boy who had accidently injured one of the Nazi guards."

"But you are certain he _is_ still alive?" asked LeBeau worriedly.

Riding Hood hesitated. "He was severely whipped, according to the Pole, but survived the ordeal. However, he didn't think Corporal Newkirk would be able to endure the conditions there much longer. The Poles had a difficult enough time and they were treated better than anyone because of their skills as miners. He told us the slave laborers were barely fed, worked much longer hours in much worse conditions than anyone else." She paused looking unhappy. "Colonel, I do not know how this information will be of use to you and I was not sure I should even tell you but decided it was best that you at least know what has become of your man. At least then it may give you some closure."

"Colonel!" protested Carter furiously, "We arent' going to just let him die there are we! We have to go save him!"

Hogan was torn. The thought of leaving Newkirk to die in the bowels of a Nazi coal mine was abhorrent to him but at the same time, the logistics were overwhelming. How were they to get to a city in Poland almost 600 km away and find one particular coal mine? And even if they located the right mine, how were they to get one man out of a heavily guarded camp with thousands of prisoners? He turned to Riding Hood. "Does your guy have any contacts there that might be able to help us?"

The woman shook her head. "I knew you would ask me that so I asked him. He said he has no contact with the Polish Underground . Apparently his escape was pure luck. The guards are very vigilant there. Most escape attempts result in being shot unless you are a POW and even then there is no guarantee as you well know. The miners are constantly being changed around from one mine to another so he does not know where any of the men he worked with when he escaped may be." She paused and looked directly into Hogan's eyes. "Colonel," she began sternly. "I think this time you must accept the fact you cannot save your man. He knew his risks when he escaped from here. You must consider whether the life of this one man is worth jeopardizing everything you have worked to accomplish here. You are not the only one who has lost good men in the line of duty. I myself have lost both my husband and father to the Nazis. Both died protecting the secrets that could have led to the death of many and perhaps even the destruction of the Underground in Hammelburg. Your work here is invaluable and _must_ be your priority."

Hogan was taken aback for a moment. Riding Hood was right and he felt the sting of her rebuke. He knew if he could realistically rescue Newkirk he wouldn't hesitate for moment but now the odds were so great, trying to rescue the Englishman would be tantamount to a suicide mission. He knew Kinch, Carter and LeBeau would head out to Poland tonight if he asked them but he couldn't in good conscious do that. He couldn't sacrifice three men in the hopes of saving one. He looked at the expectant faces of his men. He sighed heavily.

"She's right," he said wearily. "We can't risk our entire operation for one man especially when the odds are so great. What we're doing here is more important than any one of us and Newkirk knew that when he decided to take off."

"Colonel," cried LeBeau, his face dark with anger . "He escaped to protect us!"

"_And_ the organization," retorted Hogan. "I'm sorry but in this case, there's nothing we can do. I'm not any happier about it than you are but she's right. Our priority has to be our mission. The sooner we can end this war the better for everyone, including Newkirk." He turned back to Riding Hood. "Thank you for coming out tell us. If you hear anything else about him, you'll let us know?" He paused and shook his head. "And all of this because of some stupid German farmers."

Riding Hood tilted her head in question. "German farmers?"

Hogan sighed running his hand through his dark hair. "Yeah, after Newkirk first escaped, he hid out in a barn where the Gestapo found him. Apparently then the Gestapo burned down the farm and Newkirk felt really guilty about it."

Riding Hood frowned. "Where did this happen, Colonel?"

"I'm not sure, a few miles from here, I guess." Hogan's eyes narrowed. "Why? Do you know these farmers?"

Now Riding Hood looked angry and gave a bitter laugh. "Oh, yes, I know them. The Zimmers. Helmut Zimmer and his eldest son, Franz, were arrested some time ago by the Gestapo for helping Allied soldiers. I do not know where they are or if they are even still alive but that left his wife, Katerina, and their two younger children, a boy Dieter about fourteen and a girl, Amilia, about eleven, to tend the farm." She looked away for a moment before continuing. "Colonel, I heard about what happened when the Gestapo recaptured your man at the farm although I did not realize until now that he was one of yours. The Gestapo did not just burn down the farm. They murdered Katerina and the children in cold blood. I was told Captain Reinhardt shot little Amilia then burned Katerina and Dieter alive. All to convince your man to talk."

"Mon Dieu," uttered LeBeau in horror as the others stared at her in shock.

Hogan suddenly felt ill as at last he understood the demons that had been gnawing at Newkirk's soul all this time. He should have known that it was much more than the simple destruction of a farm that had enraged and tormented the Englishman to such a degree. He had to admit that his own anger at Newkirk for bringing the Gestapo informant into camp and jeopardizing their operation had blinded him to all else. He had wanted to believe what Newkirk had told him. It made things simpler. Now to find out that Newkirk had had to watch a helpless woman and two young children die rather than expose Hogan's operation put everything in an entirely different light. He had to find some way to rescue Newkirk. That's all there was to it.

Riding Hood stood up and looked at the grim faces with sympathy. Working in the Underground had put her in this position more times than she cared to think about. When the decision had been made not to try and rescue her husband, she thought she would go insane but in the end, she had had to accept the inevitable. These men were soldiers. They would do the same. "I will let you know if I hear anything further, Colonel," she replied adjusting her scarf. "I will pray for him. Perhaps he will find a way to escape on his own. If he is one of your men, I would not be surprised if he one day turns up on your doorstep.

Hogan watched as Carter and LeBeau led her out to the escape tunnel. He glanced over at Kinch who was in turn studying him. "She is right, Colonel," said Kinch quietly. "If he's someplace in Poland, there's nothing we can do for him."

"Maybe, Kinch," growled Hogan, "But we failed Newkirk when he really needed us. _I_ failed him. I shoulda known there was more to this than simply a farm being torched." Hogan began to pace in agitation. "Newkirk had to stand there and watch that bastard Reinhardt murder that woman and her two kids or give us up. Then spends a coupla days being tortured by the Gestapo yet never told us what really happened. He'd been letting this eat at him for weeks and I did _nothing_!" He slammed his fist on the table in fury. God, what a nightmare! He now looked at Kinch's grim face. "If there is a way to help him, we will find it and if the operation has to shut down, well so be it but I'm not gonna let Newkirk rot in some Polish hellhole! We _will_ get him back."

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**A****/N**: Dear Anonymous : If you are the same Anonymous that wrote to me before, I do wish you would use an actual account so I can address your concerns privately. I really don't take offense when people wish to comment on my stories but I do like to take the opportunity to explain my viewpoint!

Anyway, yes, Newkirk has suffered. War is hell. War is about suffering, often senseless but amazingly enough, people can suffer an incredible amount and still survive. But Newkirk's suffering is not pointless. He is making choices that have serious repercussions in a very violent world and those choices are leading him down different paths. He could have chosen to allow the boy to take his punishment in which case, Newkirk would not have learned who the boy was. So, Newkirk suffers but is now offered the possibility of redemption. Life in labor camps was brutal, not like on TV, and I wanted my story to reflect that.

I will take your suggestion and add angst to my description as it has indeed gotten more angsty as I've gone along. However, if the story is beginning to disturb you (and I will say this, I have no intention of killing off a major character) please don't feel obligated to read it. Obviously losing readers is not my intention but let's face it, not all stories are for all readers. I would hope you would stick with it to the end, and I would understand if that isn't the case but just so you know, things will get better!

Thanks for providing me with your viewpoints. As I say, I don't easily take offense but like to let readers know where I'm coming from so please don't feel that you have to post less than glowing reviews as "anonymous"! :-)


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15**

Newkirk spent his allotted two days in the infirmary in unrelieved misery. Helmut Zimmer had managed to convince one of the British medics to come and take a look at the injured Englishman. "Sorry, lad," muttered the man as he sprinkled sulfa powder into the wounds. "Wish I could do more for you." He carefully wrapped Newkirk's torso in a bandage and returned to his own duties. Newkirk had simply passed out in response. The process had been excruciating but it was as good of care as he was likely to get.

Franz and Helmut came as soon as their shifts were done to care for him but at the end of the second day, Newkirk knew his reprieve was up and he would have to return to his own job in the morning. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and waited for the world to stop spinning. The sooner he got up and started moving, the better. "Herr Newkirk!" Newkirk looked up to see Franz staring at him in concern.

"Hey, mate," said Newkirk trying to smile through clenched teeth. "Gimme a hand up, wontcha?"

Franz hurried over and grabbing Newkirk's arm, helped leverage the injured man to his feet. Newkirk stood swaying, his breathing hard and sweat pouring down his face. "You should not be up," said Franz softly as he draped a thin blanket across Newkirk's bare shoulders, but he knew as well as Newkirk that there was no choice. If the Englishman didn't show up for his shift in the morning, the Nazis would simply shoot him and dump his body in the mass grave.

"Well, I won't argue you with you there," grunted Newkirk as he tried to straighten up, "But the bloody Krauts won't take kindly to me askin' for a coupla more days off!" Taking a deep breath, he took a tentative step forward then another until he had made it across the room. Panting heavily, he leaned against the wall for support. The other patients in the room watched him dully. Most would never leave the infirmary alive.

Franz hovered nervously nearby. Newkirk gave him a tight smile. "P'raps you can 'elp me back to me barracks, eh?"

Franz nodded unhappily. "Are you sure, Herr Newkirk?"

Newkirk sighed. "Got no choice, do I? If I'm still 'ere come daylight, my number's up. So, best get crackin' and try to get me strength back up." He paused as he studied Franz's thin, drawn face. "Listen mate, it weren't your fault this 'appened. The Krauts 'ad no business puttin' you in charge them 'orses."

Franz swallowed but looked unconvinced. A moment later the door to the infirmary opened and a blast of cold air announced the arrival of Franz's father. Helmut's eyes widened in surprise as he spied Newkirk on his feet. "Herr Newkirk!" he exclaimed hurrying over to help support the Englander.

"Call me Peter," replied Newkirk as he pushed himself upright. "Me and Franz were about to take a bit of a stroll over to me barracks. Time for me to get back to work, innit?"

Helmut opened his mouth to protest then allowed it to snap shut. "Ja, you are right. You must appear tomorrow or they will shoot you." He sighed grimly. "I am so sorry this has happened to you…Peter. You saved my son's life. I can never repay you for that. Come," said Helmut taking Newkirk's other arm. "We must return you to your barracks. I have bribed the foreman so Franz and I will now be on the same shift as you. We will help you so you do not fall behind."

Newkirk was speechless. He didn't deserve this man's kindness! He deserved to suffer; to die a long and painful death. He had to find a way to tell them the truth so they would understand. When they entered the dark interior of the barracks, one of the men slowly climbed from his bunk and approached Newkirk, his hand outstretched. "I want to thank you," the man said, his sunken eyes bright with tears as he took Newkirk's hand in his own, "For showing me that there is still some humanity here among us." Newkirk blinked surprised at the murmurs of agreement among the other men, some of whom also rose to their feet to shake his hand.

"I….uh…thanks," said Newkirk uncomfortably as he moved through the group standing around him towards his bunk. He simply didn't know what else to say. He didn't feel as if he deserved any of this and if they knew the real story, he doubted they'd be nearly as impressed.

Exhausted, he carefully lowered himself onto his bunk. Helmut and Franz helped to steady him. He was soaked in sweat and shaking, the pain coming in waves across his back. He pulled the blanket tighter to fight off the chill. Soon, he knew, he'd have to put on his shirt and jacket or risk freezing to death. Neither prospect was particularly appealing. How on earth he was going to manage going down into the mines tomorrow was beyond him, but he'd worry about that when the time came. Newkirk cautiously lay down, trying to find the least painful position. Still shaking, he barely noticed as Helmut gently covered him with several other blankets generously donated by some of the other inmates. He closed his eyes and although he had doubted that he would be able to sleep through the pain, his body, worn and depleted had other ideas and soon he sank into blessed sleep.

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Newkirk had few coherent memories are those first few days back in the mines. The guards expected him to do his full share but the other prisoners would quietly help him whenever possible. They made sure his work got done and allowed him rest whenever the guards weren't around. "But you'll get in trouble," Newkirk protested weakly when Helmut and Franz worked his section of the mine instead of their own insisting he rest.

"We will get our work done, do not worry Peter," insisted Helmut. "Now let us work." Newkirk watched unhappily as Helmut and Franz began furiously piling rock into one of the waiting carts. He didn't notice that other prisoners were spreading themselves out more to help pick up the slack where Franz and Helmut should have been working.

A few days later, Newkirk staggered from the lift out into the yard intending to return to his barrack and collapse. He was beginning to think death really didn't seem like such a bad idea as he reached the door of his hut. "Corporal?" Blinking in surprise to hear English, Newkirk looked up to see a bedraggled British soldier standing before him, a burlap sack in his hands.

"Yeah?" mumbled Newkirk trying to get past his exhaustion. He had so little contact with his fellow countrymen that sometimes he forgot they were even here.

The man's eyes darted around. "Me an' the lads, well, we 'eard what you done for that boy. Murray told us 'ow bad you were tore up and 'ow's you weren't likely to heal without proper food an' all so…" he hesitated and looked at the bag in hand before shoving it into Newkirk's. "We took up a collection like, so's you could 'ave some proper food an' not just that bloody swill the Krauts feed us. You did us proud, mate, and we wanna do wot we can to 'elp out." He gave Newkirk a quick smile then hurried off. Newkirk stared after him in stunned amazement.

Helmut joined him a moment later. He looked at the sack and peered inside. "They sent you food from their Red Cross parcels!" he exclaimed in awe. Newkirk blinked again bringing his attention to the sack.

"They shouldn't a done that," Newkirk muttered. "They need it as much as me."

Helmut shook his head. "Peter, you must understand. What you did for my son is the first time anyone has stood up to the Nazis in a very long time. The others admire you for that."

"Well, they shouldn't!" snapped Newkirk thrusting the bag into Helmut's hands and turning away. "I'm not the man they think I am!"

Helmut was silent for a long moment. "And who do _you_ think that man is, Peter?"

"I'm a ruddy fake!" cried Newkirk looking into the distance. "I'm not a good guy. People get involved with me, they end up dead!"

"You mean like my wife and children?"

Newkirk froze at the softly spoken words, then slowly he turned to meet Helmut's unyielding gaze. "You knew," he whispered. "You know all the time." He thought his knees would give way.

Helmut nodded. "You were delirious that first day. You kept talking to Millie and it did not take me long to realize you are the man the Gestapo told me killed Katerina and the children."

Newkirk closed his eyes and slumped against the side of the building. "I…I am…so sorry!" he whispered his head bowed in misery.

Helmut stood silently for another moment. "But you did not personally kill them, did you Peter?" He asked calmly. "The Gestapo did that, did they not?"

"But it was _my_ fault!" cried Newkirk wanting Helmut to understand how guilty he was. "If I hadn't chosen to 'ide in your barn or if I 'ad told that bastard Reinhardt what 'e wanted to know…"

"If you had told the Gestapo everything you possibly could, that still would not have saved Katerina and the children," said Helmut bitterly. "My own actions had already condemned them when I chose to aid escaping Allied soldiers. They were living on borrowed time. I tried to convince Katerina to leave the farm and go elsewhere where she might be safe, but she refused. Then when Franz and I were arrested, I knew it would only be a matter of time before the Gestapo would find an excuse to take Katerina. If anyone is responsible for their deaths, it is me."

Newkirk gaped at the man beside him. Now Helmut refused to meet his gaze. "When Captain Reinhardt first told me what had happened at the farm, I did blame you," whispered the German. "If only you had chosen another farm, they might be still alive but then I had to face the fact that my own actions had put them in such danger to begin with. If I had not already been arrested for sheltering Allied soldiers , then she would not have been so vulnerable. She never wanted me to do such work and was furious when Franz chose to help me."

Newkirk was silent. For the first time, he realized he wasn't the only one carrying the crippling weight of guilt on his shoulders. Helmut was carrying an equally heavy load and Newkirk knew nothing he could say would lighten it. "They were very brave," he said finally. "Especially Millie. Bravest little thing I ever saw. Brought me food and stood up to them Nazi bastards." Tears trickled slowly down his pale cheeks.

Helmut nodded, tears in his eyes as well. "Ja, she was the best of us all. She did not know the meaning of fear. I worried for her. Dieter was so like his mother. Hard working and loyal to a fault but could not see that sometimes taking chances was necessary; that for freedom you must sometimes be willing to risk everything. Now, there is just Franz and myself left."

Newkirk frowned thoughtfully. Suddenly, he found himself able to push away the curtain of grief and guilt that had walled him off from the world. For the first time since this entire ordeal began, he could think beyond his own misery. He turned to Helmut and laid his hand on the German's arm. "And you, me and Franz, we're gonna a find a way outa 'ere!"

Helmut laughed wearily. "I think perhaps you are delirious again, Peter. Few have ever escaped from here. Those who fail are summarily shot. You know that. Besides, even if we should get out of the camp, where would we go? To get to Switzerland, we would need to travel all the way across Germany! And look at yourself! You can barely walk across the camp; you certainly could not walk halfway across Europe!"

Newkirk gritted his teeth in frustration. Helmut was right about that. Until he healed up and regained some strength, he was in no shape to go anywhere. But he had to do something! If he could get the three of them out of Poland and to Germany, maybe, just maybe, he could risk going to Stalag 13. Surely that bastard Reinhardt would have pulled out by now. Newkirk couldn't imagine Reinhardt's bosses supporting the use of a large number of troops around a prison camp where no one had successfully escaped. He stopped. For the first time, it occurred to him that his final escape may have brought the wrath of the Gestapo down on the others. Were they alright? Lord, what had he been thinking! He hadn't , that was the problem. He'd simply been working on instinct and probably hadn't had a logical thought in his head since he'd met Gretel. Since then, he'd simply done one stupid thing after another and look where it had gotten him. What a bloody fool he'd been! Things had to change if was going to get out of here alive. He looked at the bag now sitting on the ground between them. The food in that bag would be his first step to regaining his strength.

"Listen, Helmut," he said earnestly, "If there's one thing I know about, it's escapin' from camps. I just gotta give it a bit o' thought. We need to keep our eyes an' ears open, watch for any holes in their security or weaknesses."

For the first time, Helmut looked interested. "Do you really think it is possible?" he asked doubt still furrowing his brow.

Newkirk's keen eyes traveled across the camp. It was large and chaotic. But there were also a lot of guards around. "Yeah, I do, but we gotta be careful, right? Not a word to anyone. Can't risk anyone else knowing 'bout this, can we? You know as well as I do there's some in here that would sell out their own grandma for an extra piece o' bread."

Helmut nodded. Yes, he knew that indeed. "What of Franz? Can I tell him? He will not talk."

Newkirk thought a moment then shrugged. "Sure, why not. If you think 'e'll keep it to 'imself." Newkirk stood silently then looked directly into Helmut's eyes. "Helmut, I want you and Franz to 'ave a chance at life. If we stay 'ere, we'll probably all be dead by spring but it'll be dangerous and there's no guarantees."

"I understand, Peter," replied Helmut solemnly. "As I told you before, for freedom sometimes you must risk everything, including your life. If there is a chance to get Franz out of here, then I am with you."

Newkirk smiled and picked up the sack of food. "All right then, Helmut, me old sod, we'll be like the Three Musketeers; all for one an' one for all and let's hope that by summer, we'll be enjoying a nice Swiss holiday!"

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A/N: I wanted to thank everyone that took the time to post their views on my story both pro and con. I found the comments to be quite interesting. As a writer, it is always my goal to grow and learn and constructive feedback is genuinely welcomed. I realize this is a dark story (probably darker than I had originally envisioned!) and maybe not everyone believes I stayed true to the characters as well as I could have. I respect that. In some cases perhaps that is true but I do believe that under these particular circumstances, the characters, as I perceive them, did behave believably. However if I ever decide to write another HH fic I will seriously consider the comments readers have made. It is not my goal to please everyone but I do think about what people have said and I respect everyone's right to roll their eyes and think "yeah…right!" when they read stuff they don't buy. LOL

Oh, and for those who find Newkirk's survival in the river a stretch, remember that when a person is exposed to cold, the blood vessels constrict shunting blood away from the surface and extremities to the core to protect the vital organs which would have helped decrease the amount of blood lost from his wounded arm. Plus, there are numerous wilderness survival stories out there that make Newkirk's ordeal seem like a walk in the park say compared to the guy who was mauled by a bear, left for dead then crawled 100 miles to safety or the hunter who was lost for two days in the dead of winter in the Maine wilderness yet was eventually found alive literally covered with ice. I live in Alaska and there are several local books containing similar tales of miraculous survival such as Kaniut's books "Cheating Death" and "Danger Stalks the Land". Also many books on polar expeditions such as "Mawson's Will" or any on Shackleton's failed expedition to Antarctica are a testament to how humans can be exposed to extreme conditions for long periods of time and still survive. Yes, Newkirk could definitely have died from his ordeal but more importantly, there are plenty of precedents to say he could also have survived and I choose to believe he was a survivor (otherwise, this would have been a much shorter story)!

Thanks again and oh, I am sorry to say that updates may be slow in coming as National Novel Writing Month starts tomorrow and although I had hoped to have this story done before then, Reality just got in the way. For that, I apologize but promise, for better or for worse, the story will be completed!


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Again sorry for the delay but NaNoWriMo is taking up most of my writing time! I hope this chapter makes sense (and if it doesn't…I apologize! I shouldn't write without sleep…)

**CHAPTER 16**

Deep in the emergency tunnel at Stalag 13, Colonel Hogan stood beside Kinch waiting impatiently for a response from Underground to come through on the radio. Hogan had requested that they allow him to talk to the escaped Polish miner himself in the hopes that they might glean some useful information that could help them rescue Newkirk. After Carter and LeBeau had returned from escorting Riding Hood back to the rendezvous spot, Hogan had called a meeting.

"I've been giving this a lot of thought," Hogan said to his three men who watched him carefully. "I know I said the Operation was more important that any one of us, and yeah, that's probably true, but after learning the truth about what Newkirk's been goin' through I simply can't let this go. We need to try and get him out of that camp. If we can get some help from the Polish Underground to get him out and to the German border, we might still be able to rescue him and save our operation at the same time."

"Do you really think he is still alive, mon colonel?" asked LeBeau softly, unable to meet Hogan's eyes.

Hogan sighed. "I don't know, LeBeau, but Newkirk's tough. Listen, I know that I completely screwed up and Newkirk suffered for it. I should have pushed him harder about what happened but what's done is done. We've been incredibly lucky thus far. Despite everything we've done, none of us has been seriously injured until now and it would seem Newkirk is getting more than his fair share. If there is a way, we'll get him back and if we can keep the Operation going, so much the better."

"Colonel," said Kinch turning to his radio. "Message coming through." The others waited impatiently for several moments as Kinch decoded the message and handed it to Hogan.

Hogan nodded. "Riding Hood said the Pole is willing to talk if we go to him. Tomorrow night, midnight, at the old Becker farm." He turned to his men with a tight smile. "Operation Rescue Newkirk is about to begin."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hogan and LeBeau huddled silently in the dark forest surrounding the old Becker farmstead. Kinch and Carter were watching elsewhere. The farm had been abandoned a couple of years ago when the Beckers had been hauled away by the Gestapo and never seen again. The four men had been waiting for an hour now, watching for the arrival of their contact. Hogan glanced down at his watch and could just make out the glowing numbers on the dial. It was ten minutes to midnight.

"Colonel!" hissed LeBeau. "Car coming."

Hogan turned his attention to the rutted dirt road leading to the farm. The black sedan pulled up on the far side of the barn so that it would be out of sight of the road. Hogan watched as two people got out of the car. A moment later, a light flashed two, three and then two more times. It was the signal.

"C'mon," said Hogan as he moved silently forward. He signaled the other two men to stay hidden. LeBeau followed cautiously behind, his gun held at the ready.

When they approached the old barn, Hogan could see the door standing partially open. He carefully moved to the side and peered in. He was momentarily blinded by the unexpected glare of a kerosene lantern being lit. Blinking, he could make out Riding Hood and a small, wiry man watching him with narrowed eyes. Hogan slipped inside with LeBeau right beside him.

"Welcome, Colonel Hogan," said Riding Hood quietly. She turned to the man beside her. "This is Jan Lewandowski, the miner I spoke of. He has agreed to tell you what he can."

Hogan studied the man. The miner was thin and world weary. The deep wrinkles belied his age of barely 40. "Thanks for meeting with us," said Hogan finally.

Jan nodded. "I will help you if I can."

Riding Hood brought out a folded piece of paper. "Jan drew out a rough diagram of the camp and surrounding areas." They spread it out on the ground and gathered around to study it.

"Here is the big British POW camp," he said pointing to one large section of the map. "Your man is not there. He is here," he indicated another area of small squares. "This is where the slave laborers are kept – the Russians, Dutch, any undesirables such as your corporal. The huts house 24 men each, working in two shifts. They are locked in at night and fenced in with barbed wire as you can see. The mines are here, here are the sandpits for use in the concrete plant which is over here." He quickly walked them through the map doing his best to make sure they understood how well the compound was guarded.

LeBeau looked at him with a frown. "If the camp is so escape-proof, how did you get away?"

Jan hesitated then sighed uncomfortably. "My father was a miner in those mines before me and my grandfather before him. My father knows every tunnel ever dug in that mountain and there are many that are not shown on any map. If there is a cave-in, there is a system of side tunnels connected by ladders that allow us to escape. However, there are more of these tunnels than the Germans know about. Besides my father, I doubt anyone else is still alive that knows of all these tunnels."

"So," said Hogan slowly as he digested this, "You're saying your father got you out through some old tunnels no else knows about?"

Jan nodded. "Villagers often bring food to the camp to sell and he was able to get a message to me to meet him in a particular tunnel on Level 4. From there, he was able to lead me out to the other side of the mountain. It was not easy. Some of the tunnels have partially collapsed and others have had their bottoms fall out leaving deep crevasses that must be crossed. It took us almost a week."

Hogan exchanged glances with LeBeau who was barely able to contain his excitement. "Do you think he could get my man out?"

Jan looked very uncomfortable at this suggestion. "Colonel, my father is very old man and he is not well. Too many years in the mines, you understand. I do not know that he could survive another such journey."

Hogan now leaned forward, his keen eyes boring into the man sitting across from him. "What about you? What would it take to get _you_ to go back and bring him out?"

Jan said nothing for a long moment but the tightening of his jaw and his pale face graphically displayed the man's inner turmoil. Finally he swallowed, looked away for a few moments before returning his gaze to Hogan. "You do not know what you ask of me," he said softly. "Getting this far nearly killed me yet you expect me to travel back to Poland, go through the tunnels just to bring out one man! You are insane!"

Hogan studied the man before him. Jan was clearly agitated yet it wasn't just from indignation. Under all the bluster Hogan could detect some level of guilt there as well. He felt the Pole was a good man and wanted to help but was terrified of what could happen. He had just spent weeks trying to reach safety and now he was being asked to go back into the lion's den. Hogan remained silent.

Jan now rose to his feet and began to pace, running his hand through his black hair. "It is hundreds of kilometers back to the camp," he exclaimed. "How do you expect me to get back to Sosnowiec without being recaptured? I would be no use to you dead!"

Hogan glanced over at Riding Hood who was sitting silently in a corner, her face unreadable. "What do you think?" he asked her suddenly. "Do you think the Underground could relay him back into Poland?"

Riding Hood looked down at her clenched hands. Part of her wanted to start planning the Englishman's rescue right away but another part was angry and bitter. No one had made any attempt to save her husband, Gunter when he'd been captured by the Gestapo. He had been just another a casualty of war yet here was this American colonel who wanted the entire Underground network to risk exposure just to rescue one obscure corporal.

She hesitated before answering. "I supposed it would be possible although very, very dangerous. Are you willing to risk everything to save one man, Colonel? Are you willing to live with the repercussions if this goes wrong?" She looked hard at Hogan.

Again, Hogan felt a moment of doubt. He knew as a soldier, he should let it go, but he just couldn't. Ever since this nightmare had started, he'd been acting as a soldier as he'd been trained but now, he wanted to act like a human being and one who couldn't let a comrade down. He knew the Operation should come first but now that he had decided to rescue Newkirk, he was willing to risk it all to bring the Englishman home. Maybe they'd court martial him in the end, but so what? He'd made his choice and he was prepared to live with it.

"Yeah," he said finally. "I am."

LeBeau nodded emphatically beside him.

Riding Hood sighed deeply. "I can speak to the others and see if they are willing take the chance. I know that many feel deeply indebted to you, Colonel, for what you have done over the past two years, so perhaps they will do it."

Now Hogan turned back to Jan and looked at him expectantly. The Pole looked as if he wanted to cry. "Colonel," he pleaded, "You do not know what it is like there! I was lucky and in relatively good condition. Your man, if he is even still alive, will be weak perhaps even crippled. I cannot carry him through those tunnels!"

"Mon Colonel," said LeBeau stepping forward. "I volunteer to go with Monsieur Jan and help him bring Pierre home."

Hogan frowned. "I don't know, LeBeau. You would have to be gone weeks. Be pretty hard to hide that."

Riding Hood, still angry, interrupted sharply. "So, you are not willing to risk your one of your own men to bring back the Englander but it is all right for the Underground to risk their lives for this man?"

"It's not that," snapped Hogan trying not to lose his temper, "But remember, we _are_ technically prisoners. One thing that has allowed us to operate this long is by keeping Klink's escape record clean. If LeBeau heads out with Jan to Poland, he'd been gone a lot longer than a day or two. Unfortunately, LeBeau is well known to the Krauts so I can't simply replace him with one of the escaped prisoners we have down in the tunnel."

Jan looked at the two men and thought about the Englander back in Poland. He remembered how Newkirk had stood up to the Nazis and saved that boy. No one else would have done that. Prisoners in the camp had become numb to the all the suffering and concentrated on keeping themselves alive at all costs but not the Englishman. He stepped forward knowing it could have led to his own death. Now, here was an opportunity for Jan Lewandowski to show that he too was a man to be proud of; someone who thought of others despite everything this war had thrown at him. Someone who had retained at least some shred of his humanity. But he was afraid. There was no doubt of that. The journey to Hammelburg had been fraught with danger and near disaster but if he had help this time, perhaps it would not be so bad?

Chewing his lip, he finally turned to Hogan. "_If_ the Underground will help and _if _your man comes to assist me, then I will go. Only then."

LeBeau looked delighted but Hogan's brow furrowed in doubt. "This will take some thought," he said slowly. "We'll need to figure out how to work LeBeau's disappearance without bringin' the Gestapo down on our heads. They're already suspicious after everything with Newkirk."

"Well, you do not have much time to think," replied Riding Hood coolly. "If Jan is to go, it must be soon, otherwise we must send him on his way. We will need to make plans and this cannot be done overnight so if you wish to embark on this insanity, you must let us know by tomorrow."

Hogan nodded and glanced back at Jan. "Thank you," he said holding out his hand. "I know this isn't easy for you."

Jan grimaced and shook Hogan's hand. "No, Colonel, it is not but Corporal Newkirk was willing to risk his life to safe that of a German boy. That is not something you often see in the camps. It gave me the courage to try and escape despite the obvious risks. I will try to help."

The meeting was over. Hogan told Riding Hood he would contact her by the next evening. She nodded but he could tell, she was not happy about this. He then watched until she and Jan had disappeared into the night. He turned to LeBeau who had been keeping watch. "You sure about this, LeBeau?"

LeBeau looked grim. "Oui," he said simply. "I believe Pierre would do the same for me."

Hogan sighed and signaled Carter and Kinch to come in and they headed back to camp. Once back in the safety of the emergency tunnel, the two men looked expectantly at Hogan.

"What did they say?" asked Carter eagerly. "Can they help?"

"Well," began Hogan slowly. "We spoke to the Polish miner, Jan Lewandowski. He was able to escape from the camp through old abandoned mining tunnels. His father knew the way and led him out. The rest was pure luck. He did agree to go back and bring out Newkirk IF the Underground helps him and IF LeBeau goes with him."

"Uh, Colonel," began Kinch with a frown. "Isn't that going to be a problem? I mean how are we going to hide LeBeau's disappearance for however long this takes?"

Hogan rubbed his stubbled cheeks. "It took Jan and his father close to a week to get through the tunnels and Jan two more to get here. However, if the Underground helps, we might be able to cut that time back to Poland significantly but getting through the tunnels probably won't be any faster, especially if Newkirk is injured. So, we're looking at at least four weeks and maybe longer."

"Colonel!" protested Carter, "There's no way we can hide LeBeau's disappearance for a month!"

"Yeah," agreed Kinch, "And if that Reinhardt guy thinks LeBeau's really escaped, he'll bring all his troops back. You know he's just waiting for an excuse!"

"I know, I know," replied Hogan with a wave of his hand. "So, we're going to have to have LeBeau leave the camp officially."

Kinch frowned. "A transfer?"

Hogan nodded. "We need to find out where the Krauts keep most of their French POWs then convince Klink to send LeBeau there. En route, we'll have the Underground spring him. Then, he can join up with Jan and head to Poland."

"I dunno, Colonel…sir," said Carter shaking his head. "We all know how well it worked when Newkirk escaped during a transfer."

LeBeau gave a short laugh, "Oui, but unlike Pierre, I know there is a time for love and a time for war! I will not go off trying to rescue some damsel in distress." He paused and grinned. "Just Pierre!"


	17. Chapter 17

A/N I apologize for the long delay in continuing this story. I did complete my National Novel Writing Month goal of writing a 50,000 word novel so I'm pleased. Then with the holidays, writing just went on the backburner. Plus, I wanted to make sure this story was essentially finished before I resumed posting. So, the remaining chapters will probably go up pretty quickly from now on. I realize this is far from the Greatest Story Ever Told but hopefully, a few of you will enjoy it! Thanks so much for your support!

**CHAPTER 17**

Hogan's plan went as smoothly as clockwork. Hogan made up some phony transfer papers supposedly from Luftwaffe headquarters and it didn't take much to convince Klink to transfer LeBeau to a camp near Nuremberg with a large contingent of French soldiers. However, it did bother the Kommandant to lose an excellent chef, so Hogan was certain that when LeBeau returned, it would be simple to convince Klink to take the Frenchman back. As luck would have it, the new camp was almost 160 km closer to Sosnowiec. Schultz was going to drive LeBeau into Hammelburg to meet up with a truck taking a new shipment of prisoners to the camp. The plan was the Underground would intercept the truck and free all the prisoners. That would distract any attention from any one specific prisoner, namely one Louis LeBeau from Stalag 13.

It was hard saying farewell to the little Frenchman knowing he might never come back. "You take care of yourself, Louis," said Carter solemnly. "Bring Newkirk back. We'll be waiting for you."

"Do not worry, mon ami," said LeBeau with a grin. "We will be back before you can say crêpes suzette!"

"Don't take any unnecessary chances, LeBeau," said Hogan gazing around the yard. "We want BOTH of you to come back safe and sound."

"Do not worry, Colonel," replied LeBeau wrapping his scarf more securely around his neck. "I just hope Klink will let me return when this is all over. If I am not here, who will keep you barbaric Americans in line?"

Hogan laughed and clapped LeBeau on the shoulder. "Yeah, it'll be back to SPAM for us without you here to show us how civilized people eat!" He paused as he watched LeBeau pick up his small bundle of belongings. "Be careful, Louis," he said quietly. "I hate sending you on this alone."

"Mon colonel," replied LeBeau pulling up to his full height. "Pierre is my friend and has risked his life many times to save mine. It will be my honor to rescue him."

"Good luck, Louis," said Kinch as LeBeau began moving towards the car where Schultz stood waiting. "We're sure gonna miss you!"

"Au revoir, Kinch," said LeBeau shaking the radioman's hand. "Hopefully we will meet again sooner than later!" With that, he climbed into the car and was soon gone through the gates.

"I sure hope nuthin' goes wrong," said Carter softly watching as the guards secured the gate once more. "I don't think I could stand to lose him and Newkirk."

"If he does bring Newkirk back," said Kinch thoughtfully, "Do you think there's any way we could keep Newkirk here with us? We sure could use his skills."

"Yeah," agreed Carter, "Nobody can pick a lock or open a safe like Newkirk." He paused. "But it's more than just that. I really miss _him_. The camp just hasn't been the same without him.

Hogan was silent for several long moments then shrugged. "I dunno if we could ever get him back. We'd have to convince Burkhalter to take Newkirk back since he signed him over to the Gestapo in the first place, but who knows? Stranger things have happened." He looked out across the compound and sighed. "But even if he could come back, would he want to? He's had a pretty rough time and I wouldn't blame him if he just wanted to go back to England."

The other men were silent as they considered this. "You're probably right, Colonel," said Kinch slowly. "He might not be in any shape to come back anyway. " He smiled sadly. "But I sure do miss that crazy Limey!"

LeBeau's part of the trip went without a hitch. He and Schultz met up with the truck heading to Stalag 18 and LeBeau was taken on board with a group of other Allied prisoners. Schultz looked on sadly as the trucks disappeared down the road. He would certainly miss the little Cockroach and his amazing strudel. With a deep, world-weary sigh, Shultz climbed back into the car and headed back to Stalag 13.

As LeBeau settled onto the bench in the back of the truck, he studied the other prisoners. There were several other Frenchmen as well as a couple of Brits and a few Americans. All looked battle worn and exhausted. None seemed inclined to speak. There were two armed guards at the back of the truck as well as two more in the front, including the driver. LeBeau felt tense. He wasn't sure he liked putting all his trust in the Underground especially when they weren't wholeheartedly committed to the mission. LeBeau knew they were only helping because of obligations they felt they owed Colonel Hogan. He just hoped they followed through on their promise. He really didn't relish the idea of spending the rest of the war in a "real" prison camp but more importantly, if he didn't make it, Pierre would die.

The weather had deteriorated dramatically once they left Hammelburg. It was if the skies just opened up and poured water for the rest of the day. The truck was forced to slow to a crawl. The bad road and the even worse visibility made for a dangerous trip. The pounding of the rain on the canvas cover nearly deafened the inhabitants of the truck. LeBeau smiled to himself. If the Underground attacked soon, they guards would never even hear them.

Suddenly, the truck lurched to a halt. With cries of surprise, LeBeau and the other men were thrown from their seats. One of the guards yelled at the prisoners to stop their complaining while the other hopped out the back to see what the problem was. LeBeau could feel the tension mounting with each passing moment. The other guard began to look nervously over his shoulder wondering where his companion had gone to. He licked his lips as he tried to decide whether to go investigate or remain at his post. He wasn't given much of a choice when an arm suddenly appeared through the slit in the canvas grabbing the back of the soldier's jacket and jerking him backwards. The German cried out in shock but was silenced a moment later. The prisoners stared wordlessly at the spot where the German had been just moments ago as they tried to work out what had happened.

Suddenly, the canvas was pulled away again and a man's head poked through staring at them in the gloom. "Come," he barked stepping aside to allow the prisoners to climb out. "You are escaping!" The prisoners stared at him a moment longer then with a loud whoop, one of the Americans leaped out of the truck into the pouring rain. It took only seconds before the rest followed quickly.

LeBeau climbed out at the end of the line and saw several armed men peering warily into the woods on either side of the road. The dead guard lay face down in the mud, a pool of blood forming in the mud around him. LeBeau looked away. He looked around and saw a tree lying across the roadway and the bodies of two of the guards lying nearby. He was sure the fourth had met a similar fate.

"LeBeau?" The Frenchman turned to see a short dark eyed man with a grizzled beard standing near him watching him expectantly.

"Oui," replied LeBeau softly. The man nodded then jerked his head indicating LeBeau should follow. LeBeau took one last look around and saw the rest of the prisoners being led off by the other members of the ambush. LeBeau briefly wondered what would happen to them but then with a shrug, he turned to follow his escort.

The two men tramped through the dripping woods, thoroughly soaked by the continuous rain. LeBeau shivered, wishing they would hurry up and reach someplace warm and dry before he froze to death. His companion said nothing to him, just led him silently onward. Finally, they reached an old forest road where an ancient truck stood waiting. The back of the truck was covered by a large tarp protecting whatever was stowed below. The man led LeBeau to the back and lifted up a portion of the tarp and LeBeau could see bales of hay stacked four or five deep. The man quickly removed several bales then lifted a small trap door in the truck bed revealing a hiding place below. With a sigh, LeBeau climbed in and listened first as the man fastened the hatch down securely, then as he reloaded the bales into the back.

LeBeau lost track of time in his cramped, uncomfortable quarters. Although it was cold, at least it was dry and his small stature gave him a little more room than most. He eventually dozed off.

He was awakened sometime later as the old truck came lumbering to a halt. LeBeau tensed, now hearing German voices outside. They had encountered a roadblock. LeBeau held his breath as he listened to his driver talking to the soldiers. He could hear the tarp being lifted and bales being moved. The rain was still heavy and it was obvious, the guards weren't happy about being in the downpour. He listened, frozen in place as they banged about on the truck bed searched for any hidden contraband but they quickly gave it up in favor of returning to their warm, dry guardhouse. With a deep sigh of relief, LeBeau allowed himself to relax as the truck resumed its journey.

At long last, the truck juddered to a halt a second time. LeBeau waited apprehensively for something to happen. Finally he heard the tarp move, the bales lifted and the trap door opened causing him to blink in the lantern light shining down on him. The man reached down and helped him out of the small cubbyhole, supporting LeBeau for a moment as the Frenchman regained his balance.

"Mon Dieu," muttered LeBeau working out the stiffness in his muscles. "I thought we would never get here."

The man grunted. "We almost did not. If not for the rain, we might be sitting in Gestapo headquarters right now. The guards preferred their warm guardhouse to searching a wagon full of hay."

LeBeau nodded as he looked around. They were in an old barn. In the corner, a brown cow watched them warily but at least they were out of the rain. LeBeau was shivering violently now as his cold wet clothes sapped all his warmth. "Come," grunted the man and led him out of the barn and to a nearby farmhouse.

The inside was fairly Spartan, with little furniture but there was a large fire in the fireplace. LeBeau huddled before it, shedding his wet clothes and moaning in pleasure as the warmth seeped into his bones. He closed his eyes and smiled happily. He opened them a moment later as a wool blanket was spread across his shoulders. With a small jerk of surprise, he found himself looking into the face of a tired looking woman, her pale hair braided into a bun at the back of her head. This must be the man's wife. LeBeau felt a moment of discomfort at his lack of attire but the woman simply picked up his damp, discarded clothing and draped them over a couple of chairs near the fire to dry. She brought a third for him and then handed him a bowl of stew. LeBeau noted that she seemed as taciturn as her husband.

The man reappeared a short while later dressed in dry clothing. He sat at the table and watched LeBeau eat while his wife prepared a bowl for him. Silently, he wolfed the food down. Finally, LeBeau could stand it no longer.

"So," he began turning to face the man. "What is the plan?"

For a long moment the man said nothing. The only sound was his wife puttering around the kitchen. Then with a long sigh of suffering, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and turned to face LeBeau. "You will wait here until tomorrow night," he grunted. "Then, others will come for you. That is all I know. That is all I _want_ to know. It is safer that way." LeBeau had to agree with him there. The less anyone knew, the less they could reveal. So, he would spend the night with this fun-filled pair and hope he wasn't bored to death waiting for the next step in the plan.

The woman then returned and took the bowl from LeBeau. She handed him some dry clothing. "These belonged to my son when he was younger. I think they will do for now. Dress, then I will show you to your room," she said softly. He was surprised to hear she had such a charming, musical voice. He quickly pulled on the clothes which were a bit long but would be serviceable until his own were dry. She then led him along a short hallway to a doorway leading down into the cellar. She looked apologetic. "I am sorry, but it is not safe for you to remain upstairs. If the Gestapo should come there is nowhere for you to hide." Then lighting a lantern that hung on a hook in the doorway, she lit it and led him down the steep stairs.

The cellar was a dank, dreary place as such old cellars usually are. LeBeau's heart sank. He really didn't relish spending the next 24 hours down here. The woman led him across the room and to a large pile of wood stored there. She handed him the lantern then approached a portion of the pile and seemed to push on something. LeBeau stared in amazement as the section of wood swung open like a door. The woman stepped back to allow him to enter.

Below the pile was another short flight of steps leading to a hidden room below the basement. "The entrance may be opened from the inside," she said showing him the latch. "So, if something should happen to us, you will not be trapped." She led him down to the small room and lit another lantern that was hanging on the wall. The room was perhaps ten feet by ten feet and furnished comfortably with a cot, table and chair and against the far wall was a set of shelves where LeBeau spied several books as well as a pitcher of water and a basket of food. A covered bucket stood discreetly in one corner. There was also a small wood burning stove and an old carpet on the cement floor. "The pipe from the stove joins with the chimney for the fireplace above," explained the woman. "As long as the fire above is lit, it is safe to use this. The wood pile above is not solid and allows plenty of air to enter but still it is best to use this sparingly." LeBeau just nodded. It was not nearly as bad as he expected.

"Do not come up until we come for you," she continued as she turned to go back up the steps. "Your next escort should be here tomorrow night. Good night." She then disappeared back up the steps and LeBeau winced slightly at the sound of the secret door clicking back into place.

With a sigh of exhaustion, LeBeau lay down on the cot, covering himself with the blanket. He blew out the lantern and watched sleepily as the small fire in the stove burned down. He briefly wondered what the next day would bring and would he actually be able to find Newkirk and bring him out to safety. A moment later, he was sound asleep.


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER 18**

LeBeau lost track of time in his windowless cell. He slept well into the day waking in mid-afternoon. He felt around in the darkness for the lantern and lit it with some matches he'd found in the pocket of his trousers. He peered blearily at his watch and was surprised to find how late it was. He also realized he was starving. Well, eating would kill some time. He knew it would be quite awhile before he moved on. Stretching, he got to his feet and pulled the basket off the shelf and proceeded to eat half the contents.

Feeling better he now meandered around the small space examining everything. He looked at his watch. Only an hour had passed. He sighed irritably. He hated waiting more than anything. The hours dragged slowly by. LeBeau found a book to read that helped pass the time, but his mind kept wandering back to the mission. He was restless and antsy and just wanted to be on his way. He kept checking his watch willing the hands to move faster, but he could swear they moved even slower just to spite him.

At long last, night arrived and LeBeau became even more anxious, waiting for any sound indicating that they were coming to get him. It was close to midnight when the secret door finally clicked open and LeBeau hurried over to peer up the steps. The man stood at the top of the stairs and motioned for LeBeau to come. Blowing out the lantern, LeBeau scurried up the stairs to the basement then followed the farmer up to the main floor where a dark haired woman stood dripping in her wet raincoat. She studied LeBeau thoughtfully as he entered the room.

"You are smaller than I expected," commented the woman matter of factly. "But in the mines, that may work to your advantage. Come, change your clothes. We must hurry."

LeBeau had forgotten he was still wearing the oversized clothes and quickly put his own back on while the woman peered nervously out the window. When he was finished he turned to thank the couple for helping him, but they were nowhere to be found. With a shrug, he placed the carefully folded clothing on the table and turned back to the woman. She glanced at him briefly, nodded then opened the door to hurry through the rain to a waiting car. LeBeau was right behind her. A man was behind the wheel, a gun in his hand, watching LeBeau suspiciously.

"Go," snapped the woman and in a moment the car sped off into the night. She now regarded LeBeau once more. "We are to take you to Sosnowiec to meet up with your miner. We will give you ten days to get through the mines, find your man and get out. If you are not there when we come, you are on your own. It is far too dangerous for us to be found anywhere near the mines or camps."

"That is cutting it rather fine don't you think?" asked LeBeau with a frown. "I was told we would have up to two weeks."

The woman shook her head. "I am sorry, but you will have ten days only," she replied flatly. "No more. It is too dangerous and in two weeks' time we will have another more important mission to concern ourselves with. I am sorry, but rescuing one Allied soldier from the mines hardly seems worth the risk to us but we will help you all the same. If you make it to the rendezvous spot on time, we will then help you and your comrade on your way back to Germany. You just make sure you are there in time to be picked up."

LeBeau sat back, unhappy with this new development. It had taken Jan and his father close to a week to get through the mines. Who knew what shape Newkirk would be in? If he were injured, it could take them even longer. He glanced again at the woman who was staring stonily ahead. There was obviously no use in arguing with her. He sighed. Well, he would just have to do the best he could. His and Newkirk's lives depended on it.

The car rumbled through the night for several hours before finally pulling up in front of another isolated farmhouse. How would the Underground operate if not for all these isolated farmhouses, LeBeau wondered idly as he climbed from the car and hurried inside behind the woman. The driver also climbed out but quickly melted into the shadows to keep watch.

Once inside, the woman froze and listened intently. She then gave two low whistles which were almost immediately followed by four more coming from the darkness. She nodded, then slipped down the hallway where a man stood watching anxiously, a gun clutched tightly in his hand. He opened a nearby door and led them inside.

The windows were heavily shuttered to prevent any light from the lantern on the table showing through. Another man sat at the table in the middle of the room watching apprehensively as LeBeau and the two others entered. It was Jan. He relaxed noticeably when he spied LeBeau. "You made it," he said with a tight smile.

"Oui," replied LeBeau unsure whether or not the Pole was happy at his arrival. "As did you."

Jan nodded with an air of resignation. LeBeau knew he wasn't happy about returning to the mines but despite that was still willing to lead the Frenchman into the camp.

The woman looked at her watch. "Come. The entrance to the mine is perhaps an hour away. We must get you there and be well away before dawn. We left supplies there for you already. We will drop you off as near as we dare and you will have to hike perhaps half a mile from the road to the old entrance. Jan knows the way. You must be back at the entrance by midnight one week from Thursday. That is exactly ten days. We will not come back again. Do you understand?"

Jan and LeBeau exchanged looks then nodded in unison. LeBeau noticed that Jan didn't look any happier about the ten day time limit than he was.

"Good, then let us go." The woman led them back out of the farmhouse and to the car outside. The rain had subsided to a constant drizzle. The driver returned and they were soon on their way through the darkness.

The road out to the mines was rough and in poor condition. It was obvious not many came out this way these days. Despite the deep gloom of the dark night, LeBeau was able to detect a bright glow along the horizon. Jan followed his gaze. "Those are the labor camps out there," he muttered. "They are never dark." LeBeau felt a chill run down his spine. If all went well, he would soon be trying to get into one of those camps.

The mountain soon blocked their view and the dim headlights of the car provided the only illumination. The two Underground people sat in silence as they kept watch out the windows. LeBeau thought about this. Hogan and his men had always had excellent working relationships with the local Underground around Hammelburg, but these Poles seemed far more reserved and suspicious. Oh well. As long as they did their job, he couldn't complain and so far they had.

When they finally came to a halt the woman turned back to the two men. "Good luck," she said quietly handing both men flashlights. For a moment she looked as if she would say more but glancing at the driver who was staring darkly at her, she stopped and swallowed. "Remember, ten days. No more."

"Merci beaucoup," replied LeBeau as he climbed out of the car along with Jan. "We will not forget this."

She gave a short laugh. "Let us just hope you do not live to regret it." With that the car turned around and disappeared down the rutted track leaving the two men alone in the darkness.

"Come on," sighed Jan flicking on his light. "Let us get this over with. We must hurry if we wish to be back here in time." LeBeau flicked on his own light and followed silently as Jan led him down a narrow rocky trail through the dripping brush.

By the time they had reached the abandoned mine entrance, they were both soaked from the drizzle and from wading through wet vegetation. LeBeau was thoroughly tired of being wet. Without hesitation, Jan led LeBeau through a maze of fallen rocks and old barricades warning of the danger of the mine. Finally, they reached their destination. Just inside the entrance, there were two backpacks waiting for them. It was as the woman had promised.

Jan walked over to the first pack, squatted down before it, and began to examine the contents. "Ten days," he began quietly. "That does not leave us much time. It took me and my father six days to make it through the mines but my father was old and could not move very quickly plus his memories of the mines were sometimes faulty and we made a number of wrong turns. We do not have the luxury of time for such mistakes. I have spent time with my father while waiting for you and we drew a map that will help us make better time I think." Jan looked up at LeBeau who was now looking through his own pack. "The Englander, Newkirk, was not in good shape when I left. I question whether or not he will be able to make it through the mines assuming he is even still alive. What will you do if he cannot make it?"

LeBeau stopped what he was doing and frowned. What _would_ he do if Newkirk was too incapacitated to make it through the mines? LeBeau couldn't risk Jan's life any more than he already had but what would be Newkirk's fate if they left him in the camp? LeBeau shook his head angrily. He knew the answer to that. Newkirk would either die a slow agonizing death of starvation and over-work or end up in a mass grave with a bullet in his head. He simply could not allow that to happen! Death in a mine with a friend would be preferable to death alone at the hands of the dirty boche. LeBeau looked up at Jan who was studying him expectantly.

"I will bring him out of the camp if at all possible," declared LeBeau stubbornly. "If he dies during our escape well then at least he will die free and not as a prisoner. Even if that is all I can do for him, it will be worth it. And if I die with him, then at least we both died with a friend and not alone."

Jan's eyebrows lifted in surprise but he then smiled faintly. "I admire your loyalty to your comrade," he said softly. "There is little enough of that in this war. My father felt the same as you when he came to rescue me. I will do everything I can to help get Corporal Newkirk to freedom." With a grunt, he shouldered his pack and gave his hand to LeBeau to help him to his feet. "Come, let us go find your Englander." The two then turned and began their trek through the dark labyrinth of the Sosnowiec coal mines.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Newkirk wiped the sweat from his brow as he leaned wearily against the rock face to rest for a few moments. As tired as he was, he knew he could be in much worse shape. The extra food the British prisoners snuck to him every now and then was making a big difference, helping him regain his strength bit by bit. His injured back was slow to heal and hurting but the pain had become at least tolerable as long as he didn't do anything too sudden. He tired quickly and the other prisoners still helped him as they could but he was able to do more of his work as time went on. However, there was something else that had changed; something that made almost more of a difference than the food or the help and that was for the first time in a very, very long time, Newkirk felt hope. Sure, he was still stuck in a god-forsaken prison camp working in a mine that killed more men than Newkirk could count but still, he felt hopeful that the future would be better. He had been thinking long and hard about how he, Helmut, and Franz could escape from this hell hole and although he still hadn't come up with a viable plan it felt good to actually be thinking about escape. He was finally beginning to live again and not just resigned to his fate. He had a purpose in life once more.

He pushed himself back to his feet and prepared to begin to loading more rock into the waiting cart.

"Excuse me!" Newkirk felt someone run into him knocking him to the ground. He hissed in pain as his back protested at the abuse and as Newkirk prepared to snap at whoever had knocked him down he was surprised to see the man was already disappearing down the tunnel like a scared rabbit. Shaking his head and grimacing as he climbed to his feet he reached into his pocket to pull out the soiled handkerchief he kept there. He froze in surprise as his fingers came into contact with something rough and oddly shaped. Turning away from the others around, he pulled out the puzzling item and was surprised to see it was a balled up scrap of paper. Glancing about surreptitiously, he quickly unrolled the paper and felt his body go cold and his stomach drop. On the paper was a short message:

_Tunnel 4B. Midnight. LeBeau_

Newkirk blinked several times trying to make sense of what he was seeing. _Lebeau? Louis _LeBeau_! _That was impossible …wasn't it? Newkirk's mind started working furiously, considering the implications of the cryptic message. Then a slow grin began to make its way across his face. He took one long final look at the note, grinned wider then quickly popped it in his mouth. Maybe things were starting to look up after all!


	19. Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

Helmut frowned as he listened to Newkirk's plan. "You are certain this note came from your comrade from Stalag 13?" he asked shaking his head. "But how is that possible? We are a very long way from Hammelburg!"

Newkirk shrugged but he had no doubts the note had been legitimate. "Listen, Helmut, when the Guv'nor puts his mind to somethin' you can bet he'll come through. I dunno 'ow he found me, but he did and it looks like we'll be escapin' sooner than later! We just gotta find a way to get back into the mines tonight."

Helmut still looked doubtful but he could feel stirrings of excitement. Could it truly be possible that they might get out of the camp tonight? "I know the foreman of the night shift and I think he could be bribed to let us switch for tonight. We still have some of the chocolate from the British, no?"

Newkirk nodded as he dug through the secret cache he had hidden away. "Yeah, a coupla bars. You think that'll be enough?"

Helmut shrugged. "One bar will probably be sufficient but we'll use the second if we have to." Helmut rubbed the back of his neck in thought. "Your friend is undoubtedly only expecting you. What will happen when Franz and I show up as well?"

Newkirk turned to look at his friend, his face grim. "Helmut, where I go, you and Franz go. Make no mistake. I'll not leave you to rot in this hell hole. Don't worry. It'll work out fine."

Helmut tried to smile but he was troubled. He felt everything was moving much too quickly although he knew full well that sometimes you just had to act when the opportunity arose. Staying here would no doubt lead nowhere but to a long and lingering death. Even if Newkirk's companions wouldn't allow him and Franz to tag along once they were out of the camp he reckoned their chances of survival would considerably better compared to staying in the camp. He sighed and took the candy bars that Newkirk now offered him. He studied the Englander carefully. Newkirk still looked like death warmed over but he was definitely better than he had been just a week ago and his eyes were bright with excitement. However, Helmut knew the rigors of making an escape would be difficult enough for a relatively healthy man. He worried that Newkirk would not have the stamina to make it to freedom. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. Well, if he and Franz were along to help him, surely that would convince Newkirk's companions to take them along.

With a nod, he shoved the chocolate into his pocket and slipped out the door to look for the night foreman and then to find Franz to tell him of the new plan. He silently prayed that this would work out but now that the decision had been made, he knew he would not turn back. If there was any chance of getting Franz to safety, he had to take it. No matter how unlikely the odds.

Darkness had settled over the camp as Newkirk, Helmut and Franz trudged through the mud to the mine. Helmut's contact had been delighted to let them work an extra shift. He was short handed as it was and the bar of chocolate just sweetened the deal.

Newkirk fought to keep calm. It was several hours before he and the others needed to make it to the rendezvous spot. Tunnel 4B was in a little used portion of the mine, the vein of coal having been played out some time ago. Newkirk's plan was for them to slip off during the evening and make their way to the old tunnel. Truth be told, the guards in the tunnel weren't particularly attentive since the likelihood of escape was so remote. Every so often some prisoner did attempt it and usually their bodies were found some time later, if at all. The mines were a labyrinth of deadly pitfalls, crushing cave-ins and endless tunnels. If you didn't know the way through, and as far as the Germans could tell there wasn't anyone alive who did, you were signing your own death warrant. So, the numbers of attempted escapes in the mines were very low.

The night seemed to crawl by. Newkirk had no way to judge the time but he knew there was shift change at ten so he figured that was a good signal for them to head to the lower tunnels. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Newkirk heard the elevator bringing down the new guards. He glanced over and saw Helmut and Franz watching him closely. He gave a small nod and began to gradually work his way down the tunnel that would eventually lead them to 4B. Helmut and Franz joined him a short time later. Silently they looked at each other and Newkirk could see Franz grinning, his eyes shining with excitement. Newkirk grinned back then signaled them to dim their lights allowing just enough light to keep them from falling into any unexpected pits, and follow him down into the dark.

As quietly as possible, they made their way through the tunnels. The sound of dripping water and creaking timbers their only accompaniment. In several places they were forced to wade through several feet of freezing cold water but they were undaunted and trudged on. Helmut watched Newkirk with some concern but he could tell his friend was determined to make it even it took every ounce of his strength.

Finally, they reached the opening of tunnel 4B. Newkirk was panting and looked pale in the dim lantern light. He fought back a groan as he collapsed onto a large boulder. He felt drained and was shivering in his wet clothing, but he didn't care. He was excited and felt confident they were on the brink of escape. He wanted to call out, see if LeBeau was already there hidden in the shadows, but he waited. He wasn't sure how close they were to midnight so it was possible his friend was still on his way. He shut his eyes for a just a moment. He was so tired. Just needed a little rest.

The next thing Newkirk knew, someone was shaking him. "Newkirk!" he heard Helmut hiss, "Wake up! I can hear someone coming!"

Blinking in confusion, it took Newkirk a few moments to realize where he was. Once Helmut's words sunk in, he clambered to his feet and listened intently, his pain and fatigue forgotten for the moment. He could now see a dim light making its way down the dark tunnel towards them. Holding his breath, Newkirk just watched, his heart beating furiously. Finally, he could make out two figures making their way cautiously down the tunnel. Newkirk blinked his lantern twice and the figures stopped.

"Pierre?" came a soft voice from the depths of the tunnel.

"Is that you, Louis?" called Newkirk moving forward still not sure he could believe his friend had come to rescue him.

Then two figures then came hurrying out and Newkirk could now see LeBeau's smiling face beaming out at him. "Newkirk!" the small Frenchman cried in delight and grabbed Newkirk in an enthusiastic bear hug. Newkirk gasped in pain but gritted his teeth and quickly hugged Louis back. Suddenly LeBeau jumped back as if he'd but stung and stared at Newkirk in dismay. "Oh! I forgot! You have been injured! I'm sorry!"

"No worries, Louis," grinned Newkirk stepping back to study the Frenchman as if to make sure he was real. "How did you find me! I never expected to see any of you lot again!"

LeBeau shrugged as if his arrival in the depths of a Polish coal mine was nothing out of the ordinary. "You know Colonel Hogan. Once he decided to rescue you, there was no stopping him."

"LeBeau," hissed a voice from behind the Frenchman. "Come! We must get out of here!" Newkirk looked up to see a thin dark eyed man watching them. He was obviously anxious to go.

"Pierre," said LeBeau, "This is Jan, one of the Polish miners that used to work here. He's our guide out of here."

Newkirk frowned. He was sure he'd seen the man before. Then, his eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, you're the miner that disappeared awhile back! The Krauts were right miffed about that. They don't care much about the likes of us slaves but they don't take kindly to losin' good miners. You escaped then?"

Jan's eye darted about worriedly. "Yes, now come on! If we are not at the rendezvous spot in time, we will be abandoned by the Underground."

LeBeau finally noticed the two figures that had slowly moved in closer. Reflexively, he reached for his gun but Newkirk quickly laid a hand on his arm. "Louis, it's all right, mate! They're with me. This is Helmut Zimmer and his son, Franz. They're coming with us." His tone brooked no argument.

Louis opened his mouth to protest then frowned. "Zimmer?" he echoed. "That was the name of the farmers…" he trailed off as he suddenly understood. These were the missing Zimmers, the only surviving members of the family Riding Hood had told them about. He could see the man and his son appeared worried that they might be left behind. Now that LeBeau had heard the full story of Newkirk's ordeal, he knew he could never leave these two to continue suffering at the hands of the Nazis. So he simply nodded. "It is nice to meet you. Now come, we must all leave immediately. We must get through these mines as quickly as possible or as Jan said, the Underground will abandon us."

Newkirk nodded and clapped a hand on LeBeau's shoulder. "All right then," he grinned happily. "Let's get a move on!"

For several hours, the group made their way through the dark warren of the mines. Jan periodically checked a small hand-drawn map he carried with him, frequently muttering to himself and looking around worriedly. Finally, LeBeau called for a rest. He'd noticed Newkirk was faltering and although the two Zimmers were helping the Englishman through the more difficult parts, LeBeau could tell they were also fighting exhaustion. He had to remember that all three had been through a very rough time. Jan was reluctant but finally agreed to a couple hours' rest.

Silently LeBeau watched in concern as Newkirk sank to the ground, panting and bathed in sweat. It was hard to make out details in the dim light of their lanterns but it was obvious to LeBeau that his friend was in a bad way. Newkirk never uttered a word of complaint as he climbed over rockfalls or crawled under fallen beams but LeBeau heard the gasps of pain and soft moans. He could hear the older Zimmer offering Newkirk encouragement as they struggled along. LeBeau frowned slightly feeling a pang of guilt. He knew he should be the one helping Newkirk but he also realized that Newkirk and the Zimmers shared a bond that he couldn't understand. Just as Newkirk and LeBeau had saved each other's lives on numerous occasions during their missions, LeBeau could see that the same was true of these three. He knew the boy would have been beaten, possibly even killed, if Newkirk hadn't stepped in and taken his place. He knew Newkirk felt guilty over the death of Zimmer's wife and other two children and would have died rather than leave the farmer and his son in the camp.

He sighed and glanced over at Newkirk again and saw that the Englishman's eyes were closed, apparently now asleep. Helmut Zimmer stood and quietly approached LeBeau. "I wish to thank you for allowing my son and I to come along with you," he said softly.

"It is nothing, mon ami," replied LeBeau. He paused, uncertain as to how to proceed. Zimmer noticed the look on the Frenchman's face.

"Yes, monsieur, I do know of the fate of my wife and children," the man said as if in answer to the unspoken question that hung between them. "I also know that Peter feels responsible for their deaths." He shook his head sadly. "I do not blame him. It is more my fault than his. If I had not helped Allied soldiers to begin with, they would not have been in such danger. I owe Peter the life of my remaining son. I do not believe Franz would have survived such a severe beating." He hesitated. "We did our best to nurse Peter back to health but as you can see, he is still very weak. I pray he will survive this journey."

LeBeau frowned. "Do you think that he might not?"

Helmut shrugged wearily. "He will not give up, I know that much but how long his body will keep going is the question. Franz and I will continue to help him as we are able but I'm afraid we are not as strong as we once were. The camps take their toll on even the strongest of men."

LeBeau's jaw tighted as he studied Helmut's thin, haggard face. He remembered what Jan had said about the abuse the slave laborers endured in the mines and Helmut was a testament to the miner's accuracy. "If we can just get to the rendezvous in time," LeBeau said trying to sound optimistic, "the rest of the trip will much easier. The Colonel will help you get to England. I am sure of it."

"Danke, monsieur," replied Helmut with a grateful smile. "My son and I, we are in your debt." He then rose to his feet and settled himself near his son who, like Newkirk, appeared to be asleep.

LeBeau sat in silence for a few moments before getting to his own feet and moving to Newkirk's side. He said nothing, just sat quietly listening to Newkirk's labored breathing.

"Thanks, mate," came Newkirk's hoarse voice out of the darkness. "For comin' to get me. I figured I was on me own."

LeBeau jumped slightly in surprised. "Never, mon ami," he replied fiercely. "We would not leave you behind. We just did not know where you were." He paused for a few moments. "I do have to say, the Colonel was furious when he thought you had just decided to escape."

Newkirk was silent for a long time and LeBeau thought perhaps he had fallen asleep again. "I had t'go bury 'em, din't I?" he muttered finally. "I couldn't leave little Millie and her mum and brother out there alone. I was the only one that could do it. But, I knew the guv'nor wouldn't 'ave let me go. Plus, there was Reinhardt breathin' down me neck. I couldn't see any other way out."

LeBeau sighed. Newkirk was silent once more before continuing. "I…I just 'ope that bastard Reinhardt didn't come to 'ard on the rest o' you."

LeBeau gave a short laugh. "Rest assured, mon ami, Reinhardt did nothing to us. We did shut down operations for awhile but he had no proof that the colonel was aware of your escape or helped you in any way."

"That's good then," sighed Newkirk wearily. "I was worried." He hesitated. "How did you find me, Louis?"

LeBeau shrugged. "Colonel Hogan had the Underground keep their ears open for any word on you. When Jan appeared on the Underground's doorstep saying he had escaped from a coal mine in Poland, they asked him about you. He remembered you because you had stepped in and took a boy's punishment. It made quite an impression."

Newkirk gave a short, bitter laugh. "Made quite an impression on me, too." He shook his head as if to dispel the memories of that horrible day. "But I'd do it again, make no mistake. That boy was Franz Zimmer." He looked to where the boy was leaning against his father, both of them appeared asleep. "It was the least I could do." LeBeau followed his gaze, hearing the pain in his friend's voice.

"Do not worry, Pierre," said LeBeau softly. "We get you all to safety. Maybe you should get some sleep."

Newkirk sighed deeply as he closed his eyes once more. "I don't think there is anywhere safe anymore, Louis." _Especially not in my dreams_.


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER 20**

Captain Reinhardt stared in distaste and frustration at the prisoner slumped in the chair before him. The man stared defiantly at him through bloodied and swollen eyes. They had been interrogating him for hours and so far had gotten no useful information. The man was suspected of being involved in the local Underground operation but so far questioning the old man had been a complete waste of time. Personally, Reinhardt thought it was more likely that his own grandmother was a member of the covert operation than this old geezer, but it was important to follow up any possible leads even if they came from a jealous business rival. He shook his head in disgust and turned to the second Gestapo agent nearby.

"Lock him up for the night then release him. Let him be a warning for others."

"Jawohl, Herr Hauptman," barked the lieutenant turning to the soldier standing nearby. Without even a backward look, Reinhardt strode from the room and into his waiting staff car. It was time to go home.

An hour later found Reinhardt in his study at home, a schnapps in hand. As he was settling into his desk chair, his phone rang, its jangling sound setting his teeth on edge. Reinhardt glared at it irritably before snatching up the receiver. He knew it had to be his assistant. He was the only one who would call Reinhardt at home. "Yes, Kleine, what is it?"

"Sir," said the lieutenant cautiously, "you told the camp commandant at Sosnowiec to notify you if there was anything happened in connection with a British corporal, Peter Newkirk or of Helmut or Franz Zimmer?"

Reinhardt was suddenly alert, his blue eyes narrowing. "Ja, that is correct. Has there been news?" he demanded.

"Yes, sir," replied Kleine. Reinhardt could hear the crackle of papers. "The camp commandant reports that all three have disappeared in the mines. He believes they are dead or soon will be."

Reinhardt's eyes glittered dangerously as he digested this information. "No, lieutenant, they are not dead," he said softly. " Corporal Newkirk is an expert when it comes to the art of escape and he has obviously decided to take the Zimmers with him." He paused, fighting to keep his anger in check. "Tell the camp commandant that he is to start searching the mines with dogs. He is to find every exit out of those mines and place guards. I do not care how long it takes or how impossible the task, I want those three men found – dead or alive."

Reinhardt slammed the receiver down into its cradle. Seething, he pulled himself to his feet and stalked to the window overlooking the garden behind the house. He could see his wife and daughter sitting on the veranda. A part of him was impressed that Newkirk was still fighting. He'd heard of the punishment the Englander had taken on the part of the Zimmer boy and it had amused Reinhardt to think how the foolish corporal just kept adding to his own suffering. Frankly, after that, he had expected to hear of the man's death, yet the Englander never gave up. Now, it would seem that he and the Zimmers had made a break for it. Frankly, he didn't expect them to make it through the endless maze of passages of those old mines but if anyone could do it, he suspected it would be Corporal Newkirk. Well, if they did make it through by some miracle, Reinhardt would make sure someone was there waiting for them. Then he would take care of the problem of Newkirk and the Zimmers once and for all. Just as he should have done to begin with.

As he turned away from the window, his eye caught one of the numerous family photos his wife kept on the bookshelves. Eyes narrowed, he snatched on up, stared at it for a long moment, then flung it across the room with a crash of breaking glass. Breathing heavily, he turned on his heel and strode from the room leaving the remains of a shattered picture of the smiling golden-haired boy for the maid to dispose of.

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Newkirk woke up abruptly stifling a cry of fear. It had been another nightmare, one of a seemingly endless string of them. It was rare he slept through the night without at least one or two jerking him awake. He rubbed his eyes wearily. They felt gritty. Grimacing, he pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked around. Franz and Helmut were still asleep. Louis was short way off conversing quietly with the Pole, what was his name again? Jan? Newkirk shook his head in disbelief. One moment, he was slaving away in these bloody mines and the next he was fleeing for freedom. Oh, he knew the chances of them actually making it through were slim but still, for the first time in months he reveled in the feeling of freedom. Dying on the run was still preferable to dying under the whip of some Nazi sadist. He sighed and trying to work out the stiffness and pain in his muscles. He was so worried about holding the others back. He knew he was the weakest link in their chain and if he finally succumbed to the toll that months of brutal suffering had taken on his body, he didn't want anyone else to go down with him. But, still, he smiled happily. They were, even if just nominally, _free_!

He looked up as Louis approached him holding out some food. Newkirk stared at the bread and cheese in confusion for a moment. He'd almost forgotten was real food looked like. Slowly, he reached out and took the food and just studied it before finally taking a bite of the coarse brown bread. He closed his eyes and smiled in rapture. It had been _so_ long! That first bite seemed to break down any further barriers and Newkirk quickly began to wolf down the food as if he feared it would be snatched from him. In just a few moments, the food had completely disappeared and Newkirk blinked in surprise. He turned to Louis who was watching him with concern. He then glanced at the Zimmers who were also gulping down the food Jan had handed them.

"Sorry, Louis," mumbled Newkirk in embarrassment. He didn't like LeBeau seeing him act so desperate.

"That is all right, Pierre," replied LeBeau with a grin. "Just wait till we get you back to camp and I can make you a real meal! It will rival any of the finest restaurants in Paris itself! You will see!"

Newkirk grinned a little sheepishly, but felt better all the same. When they were all done eating, Jan said they must continue. He wasn't concerned about the Nazi's coming after them but he wanted to make sure they made it to the rendezvous in plenty of time. He was taking no chances that they might find themselves marooned in Poland.

With a groan, Newkirk climbed slowly to his feet but did his best to hide his discomfort. He could swear every muscle in his body was screaming at him. Helmut and Franz hovered nearby. "Are you all right, Peter?" asked Helmut softly as he studied Newkirk's pale face.

"Right as rain, Helmut," replied Newkirk gamely. "I'll be even better once we get outa this bloody mine!"

Helmut nodded in agreement. "Ja, I look forward to seeing the sky again and not from inside the fence of a Nazi camp."

With renewed determination, the five men resumed their trek through the dark, treacherous tunnels. The going remained slow as Newkirk and the Zimmers struggled against their failing strength but they refused to give up. Jan fretted over the delays but he understood what the three had suffered and did his best to be patient. LeBeau was also worried but he wasn't sure why. He kept feeling as if things had gone a little _too_ smoothly and that something was bound to go wrong.

They had managed to struggle through several days before that something finally happened. The exhausted men had established a routine by now, climbing and crawling through the tunnels, sometimes wading through water up to their waists or squirming through openings barely big enough for the rats they frequently spotted in the dark recesses. They had just managed to work their way over yet another rock fall when suddenly Franz called for them to stop. "Do you not hear it?" he asked anxiously as the others gathered around him. "Listen!"

Newkirk stood silently, his eyes closed as he strained to hear whatever it was that had Franz concerned. Then, he heard it. It was still very distant but there was no mistaking that sound – the frenzied yelp of a dog on the scent. His whole body went cold. How could this happen! The Nazis were tracking them through the mine, but the Nazis _never_ bothered tracking anyone through the mines!

"Louis!" he hissed, his eyes snapping open.

"Merde," spat LeBeau angrily. "Dirty Boche!" He turned to the others, their fearful eyes glittering in the dim light of the lamps. "We must hurry! Jan how much further is it to the exit?"

Jan's jaw tightened as he studied his map in the flickering light of his headlamp. "At least another day and we are coming to some of the most damaged tunnels. It will be even more difficult now." He glanced meaningfully at Newkirk and the Zimmers. LeBeau frowned. Well, there was no help for it. They must move and now or they would be caught by the Nazis.

"Vite!" he snapped turning to the others. "We must hurry!"

Newkirk looked back where the cries of the dogs could still be heard echoing in the distance. There was no telling how far the dogs really were, but time was running out. He suddenly felt defeated. In his heart, he knew Reinhardt was behind this. Why else would the Nazis care about men attempting to escape through the mines? They never had before. Reinhardt was the only answer. Helmut stepped close to him. "We can do this, Peter," he said quietly placing his hand on Newkirk's arm. "We did not survive the camp and make it this far to let the damn Nazis stop us now."

"He is correct, Pierre," said Lebeau firmly. "I will not allow them to take you again! But come, we must hurry!" Newkirk nodded and straightening his shoulders followed Jan with Helmut, Franz and LeBeau behind him.

Jan was not exaggerating when he described the conditions of the tunnels nearing the exit. Newkirk hurried as best he could, ignoring his aching muscles and lightheadedness. He frequently stumbled over rocks or old railroad ties that littered the floor of the tunnels. He would not let his comrades down, and struggled on. Abruptly he felt the ground give way beneath him and with a cry of alarm fell into a pool of inky blackness of a newly opened abyss.

He cried out in pain as he hit the rock floor below. His headlamp had gone out and he could see nothing.

"Pierre!" LeBeau's frantic cry came from above. "Are you all right!"

Newkirk lay still for a moment then, with a grunt, pushed himself slowly into a sitting position and began to take inventory. Everything seemed to be intact. "I'm fine, Louis," he called back up as he rubbed his bruised shoulder. "Can you get me back up?"

The glow of LeBeau's lamp was perhaps six feet above him. He could just make out the others gathered around the opening. He could hear mutterings as the others discussed how to retrieve him. In the meantime, Newkirk relit his lamp and looked around. It was a narrow tunnel with little to distinguish it from the hundreds of others that honeycombed the mountain. Nothing, that is except for the skeleton huddled next to a pile of fallen rocks that blocked one end of the tunnel. Newkirk stared at it for a long moment before approaching it. Crouching down, he studied the tattered remains of clothing that still clung to the bones. It was cold in the tunnels but damp and little remained of the flesh. Carefully, Newkirk lifted the remnants of a scarf that draped the corpse's neck. There was an ID tag lying beneath. Newkirk quickly recognized as one from the mines.

"Poor blighter," Newkirk mumbled, realizing he must have stumbled onto the remains of one of the many prisoners that had attempted to escape through the mines. He carefully pulled the tag from around the dead man's neck and brought it close to his face, hoping to make out the man's name. The writing was very faded and water smeared but what he could discern, caused Newkirk's heart to speed up. The name on the tag was Manfred Reinhardt.


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER 21**

Newkirk stared in confusion at the name on the camp ID tag. _Manfred Reinhardt? _Could he be somehow related to that bastard, Captain Reinhardt? This was an interesting development. Carefully, he took the tag and slipped it into his pocket. If he ever got out of here alive and made it to freedom, he would have to investigate this further.

"Newkirk!" Newkirk turned as he heard LeBeau calling his name. Limping back to where he had fallen through, he saw they had lowered a rope with a loop at one end. Quickly stepping into the loop, he allowed the others to pull him up enough so that he could climb out of the hole.

"Are you all right?" asked LeBeau again, his eyes searching for any sign of blood or other injury.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Louis," replied Newkirk with a grin. "Just bruised me pride. C'mon let's get movin' before those Krauts find us!"

LeBeau hesitated for just a moment, then with a nod turned to where the others now stood anxiously waiting. Jan's eyes were darting about nervously and LeBeau could tell the man was ready to bolt if they didn't get moving. "Come on, then!"

Quickly, they resumed their journey through the darkness. The trip was punctuated but muttered curses as the men frequently hit their heads on low hanging support beams or tripped over some piece of debris. All the while, they could hear the cry of the dogs gradually becoming louder. How could they lose them? LeBeau's mind was racing. The trouble was, if they left the known route to try and escape dogs, then they might become lost forever like so many others over the years. Jan only knew the one way so it was imperative they not lose their way.

"They are getting closer!" panted Helmut as he helped his son across one of the wider gaps in the floor of the tunnel.

"Just keep moving," gasped Newkirk wiping the sweat from his face. He glanced anxiously back the way they had come as if a pack of dogs might suddenly appear from the gloom. If only he could move faster! Every breath was agony, every step sapped more and more of the meager energy he could muster. How much longer could he keep it up? He glanced at Helmut and Franz just behind him. They too, were struggling. Bloody hell! They were so close! They just couldn't let the Germans catch up to them now.

For hours they fought to keep going with Jan and LeBeau having to help Newkirk and the Zimmers more and more frequently. The baying dogs were growing ever closer. Now, they could even hear the calls of the pursuing soldiers. Newkirk could feel the hair rising on the back of his neck as he fought down his growing panic. _I can't give up_, he thought desperately but then, he stumbled over a hunk of rock and he collapsed on the ground unable to get up, his legs simply refusing to obey him. He lay sobbing for breath in the darkness realizing that his race was at an end. He simply could not go on.

"Pierre!" cried LeBeau frantically, "Get up! They are almost upon us!"

But Newkirk's awareness was gradually fading, his body shutting down, but before he lost conscious completely a spark of an idea lit the darkness of his mind. "Collapse… the tunnel…" he croaked, desperately clutching LeBeau's arm hoping to make himself clear; then all went black.

It took a moment before Newkirk's words penetrated LeBeau's curtain of fear for his friend, but once they did the Frenchman scrambled to his feet. "Of course!" he cried looking wildly at the others. "Why did we not think of this before! Collapse the tunnel so they cannot follow!" For a long moment the others just stared at him blankly, then Jan stepped forward nodding eagerly.

"Yes! The trick is to collapse it without killing or trapping ourselves. It must also be a big enough rock fall that the Germans cannot easily clear a path." Nodding to himself and muttering quietly in Polish, the miner began to quickly examine the old supports holding up the tunnel and the rock walls. Finally, he stopped about ten feet back the way they had come carefully studying the tunnel around him, then he turned to the others. "If we can tie the rope around this support and pull, we may be able to collapse a good portion of this tunnel. I can see the rock in this area is very unstable and should come down easily. The question is, how much of the tunnel will collapse? It could very easily all come down and bury us all."

"We do not have much choice," replied LeBeau grimly as he came to stand beside the Pole. "Newkirk cannot go on and the Zimmers are close to collapse as well. If we cannot stop the Boche from catching up with us, then we might as well just wait for them here." Jan give LeBeau an odd glance, but the miner understood that LeBeau would remain behind with Newkirk and the others. Jan, however, had no intention of missing that rendezvous.

"We will collapse the tunnel," said Jan as he removed his pack to find the rope. LeBeau hurried back to where the Zimmers clustered around Newkirk's inert body.

"We must move Pierre to safety," said LeBeau reaching to grab Newkirk's shoulders. "We are going to try to collapse the tunnel and block the Germans." Helmut nodded then grabbed Newkirk's feet and together they hauled him another fifty feet up the passageway and hopefully out of harm's way. They returned to find Jan playing out the rope behind him as moved towards them. When he was about fifty feet from the support he hoped to pull down, he stopped. That was all the rope they had.

"We will all need to pull on this," he said tersely and watched as LeBeau and the Zimmers lined up behind him, each clutching onto the rope ready to pull. On the count of three, the four men began hauling back on the rope as hard as they could. At first, nothing seemed to be happening but then with the sound of the dogs almost upon them, LeBeau could feel the support begin to give way.

"Look!" cried Franz staring down the tunnel where the glow of a light could be seen. The Nazis were had just appeared around the corner of the tunnel, the dogs leaping and snarling at the ends of their leads!

"Harder!" shouted Jan, his dripping face showing the strain.

"Halt!" a harsh voice came echoing through the tunnel just as the fugitives felt the beam come loose. For a moment, everything seemed to move in slow motion. LeBeau's eyes widened as the first dog came lunging down the tunnel, a guard in tow when one stone fell, followed by another then another and soon a torrent of rock was collapsing down upon them. LeBeau heard the yelp of the dog and the soldier's cry of pain as the cascade of rock obliterated them from view.

For a moment, LeBeau felt a surge of jubilation, knowing they had succeeded but his joy was short-lived as he heard Jan's warning cry. The tunnel's collapse did not stop with the section nearest to the soldiers but continued falling down its entire length. LeBeau froze in shock as the cascade of rocks rapidly approached where they stood. He heard Jan's cry again, jolting him out of his trance and he turned to run but it was just a moment too late. With a blinding explosion of pain radiating through his skull, LeBeau's world went black.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Newkirk groaned softly as he slowly regained consciousness. He felt as if he'd been run over by a tank with every inch of his body vying for his attention. Coughing, he tentatively pushed himself into a sitting position. He waited for a moment for his head to stop spinning then carefully lit his head lamp once more. Coughing harder, he frowned in confusion as he noticed the fog of dust swirling around him. He was coated in the stuff. He looked around, his anxiety rising. There was no sign of the others. Ignoring his pain, he pushed himself to his feet. Standing unsteadily, he peered down the tunnel trying to see where the dust cloud had originated. He could feel a ball of fear in the pit of his stomach. Something was very, very wrong.

"Louis?" he called uncertainly. All he could hear was the sound of settling rock and the occasional falling stone. He staggered forward a step or two forward, horror growing with every passing second. Then it hit him: _I told him to collapse the tunnel! _"LOUIS!" he screamed lurching forward down the tunnel, desperate to find his friends. Suddenly, he found himself faced with a pile of newly fallen rock. Newkirk stared at in shock then with a cry of anguish began to frantically pull rocks away from the pile and hurling them behind him.

Sobbing for breath in the dust-filled tunnel, he pulled rock after rock praying the whole thing didn't come crashing down on him. With growing desperation, he called the names of his companions, hoping against hope that one of them would answer. Pausing to catch his breath, he froze at what sounded like a moan coming from the pile of stone and debris. One of them was still alive! "Hang on!" he shouted as began hauling away more rocks. "I'm comin'! Just 'ang on!" Redoubling his efforts, Newkirk began filling the tunnel behind him with debris. Sweat poured down his face as deep coughs wracked his body, but his thoughts were only for his comrades.

He reached down to grab onto yet another stone when he realized it wasn't a stone at all but something soft – it was a hand! _Please don't be dead! _He prayed silently as he desperately began clearing more rocks soon revealing an arm, then a shoulder, then finally a head. It was Jan. "Jan!" cried Newkirk clearing away more stone until he could pull the Polish miner free. He quickly rolled him over and felt for a pulse. "C'mon, Jan," he pleaded, "Don't be dead!" But there was no sign of life. Jan's eyes stared sightlessly up at him and there was no pulse. Newkirk stared helplessly down at the dead miner, the thick layer of dust giving the body an ethereal appearance. Newkirk glanced up at the formidable wall of stone still looming before him, and a wave of hopelessness washed over him. Were _any_ of them still alive? And even if they were, how could they get out without Jan? Gritting his teeth, he grabbed Jan and dragged him further down the tunnel. He staggered back through the rock-strewn tunnel and began pulling rocks out again. Dead or alive, he would find his friends.


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER 22**

As Colonel Hogan poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot, he grimaced slightly at its bitter taste. No one could make coffee like LeBeau and since he'd been gone, they had all been suffering. He shook his head silently scolding himself. Bad coffee was nothing compared to what LeBeau and Newkirk must be going through right now. He found his thoughts frequently centered on his two missing men. The Underground had assured him that LeBeau and the miner, Jan Lewandowski had made it into the mine with no problem and it was still another day and a half before they were supposed to reappear, hopefully with Newkirk in tow. Hogan frowned. He had been furious when Riding Hood told him the Polish underground people had cut the time for LeBeau to get in and out to only ten days. He knew the Poles didn't owe him anything but another day or two might make the difference between life and death. Hogan sighed wearily. Despite the positive initial reports, he was well versed in operations like this and rarely did any plan go without a hitch and there were so many ways this operation could screw up, it would be a miracle if any of it went as planned.

With another sigh, he ran his hand through his dark hair. He felt as if he hadn't slept in a month. As they were so short of men, he had decided to curtail their own missions substantially until this one was completed. They were still passing the occasional escaped prisoner on to the Underground but for the moment that was all. London was willing to go along with him for the moment, but he knew perfectly well that they wouldn't wait much longer. They would order him to find some replacements for the two missing men and get on with things. There was a war going on, after all, and some loss was to be expected. Hogan shook his head. It was so damn easy for those guys in London to order them to do this or that with no regards to the cost to him or his men, but in order for Hogan's team to be successful, he had to have men he could trust with his life, men he knew would carry out their job no matter what but who would also protect each other. It took time to find men like that. To him, he'd had the perfect team. Each man had his own unique skills and abilities that complemented each of the others'. He knew he should be considering other POWs in the camp as possible replacements for Newkirk and LeBeau, but his heart just wasn't in it.

He glanced over to where Kinch and Carter were involved in a game of poker with a couple other prisoners. They had both tried to keep his spirits up, but he knew they were as worried and depressed as he was. Kinch looked up briefly and noticed the colonel watching them. He gave his commanding officer a wry smile then went back to his cards. Hogan had to periodically force the radioman to come up out of the emergency tunnel and away his radio. Kinch wanted nothing more than wait down there just in case there was word but Hogan knew it would be a couple more days at least before they were likely to hear anything. He sighed wearily and cup in hand, wandered back to his quarters.

XXXXXXXXX

Newkirk had no idea how long he had spent hauling rock from the cave-in. Time had little meaning here deep in the bowels of the earth. Pausing to catch his breath and to wipe the sweat streaming down his face, he noticed his hands for the first time. They were practically cut to ribbons from hauling all the rock and debris. Funny, they didn't even hurt. As he vaguely pondered this oddity Newkirk stiffened, now alert. What was that? He could have sworn he'd heard a sound, perhaps even a voice coming from the rocks! "Louis!" he cried hoarsely. "Is that you? Answer me!" He listened again, straining to hear the slightest whisper when the noise came again. This time there was no doubt, it was a voice and it was calling for help!

With renewed vigor, Newkirk began wildly lifting rocks and debris and flinging it behind him. "Hold on!" he panted time and time again. "I'm comin'!" The voice was becoming louder calling and encouraging him.

Finally, Newkirk managed to roll a large boulder off the pile to reveal a small space where several of the old supports had stopped the rock fall. There, huddled in the gloom were Franz and Helmut grinning up at him through dirt grimed faces. LeBeau lay still by their feet. "I knew you'd find us!" gasped Franz as Newkirk carefully helped him climb down over the rubble.

Newkirk felt his stomach drop as he noticed at the blood coating the side of LeBeau's head. "He is alive," said Helmut reassuringly. "I think it is just a bad bump but come, we must get him out of here."

Newkirk nodded worriedly the reached down and with Helmut's assistance, slung LeBeau carefully over his shoulder and carried him away from the rocks. Finding a clear spot, he gingerly lay his friend down to examine him more closely in the dim light of his lamp. LeBeau had a nasty gash on the side of his head and Newkirk could feel a goose egg sized lump as well. Quickly, he grabbed up one of the canteens and with shaking hands carefully attempted to clean away some of the blood. LeBeau's eyes flickered opened and for a moment looked confused then grimaced as he became abruptly aware of the throbbing of his skull.

LeBeau looked up and noticing Newkirk's concern, waved him off with a pained grin. "It is nothing! Just a bump!" Newkirk tried to smile but failed as he realized just how close he had come to losing his friend. He helped LeBeau to a rock, handing him a canteen then quickly turned to check on Franz and Helmut. Like LeBeau, both were covered with blood and dirt but seemed reasonably intact. "You blokes all right?" asked Newkirk looking them over worriedly.

Helmut nodded as he reached for the canteen LeBeau offered him. "Ja," he grunted as he gulped down the water before passing it on to his son. "Bruised and battered but we will live. Thank God you were clear and able to save us. We could not have dug ourselves out of there."

"Guess I was good for somthin' in the end," replied Newkirk with a small smile then he grew sober. "Jan is dead."

The others stared at him in shock. "How will we find our way out?" asked Franz looking from his father to LeBeau, his eyes wide with fear. "Are we trapped down here?"

LeBeau shook his head slowly. "I do not think so," he said struggling to his feet. "Jan drew a map to help him remember the way." He relit his headlamp that had gone out in the cave-in and peered around in the darkness. He spotted Jan's corpse further up the tunnel. Stumbling over the debris, LeBeau made his way to the body and searched through the man's clothing. After a few moments, he pulled out a folded piece of paper and opened it. It was the map. The others huddled around trying to make out the image in the dim light.

"Jan said we were perhaps only a day away from the exit," said LeBeau thoughtfully. He finally pinpointed where he thought they were. "If this is our current position," he said pointing, "Then we need to go like this." His finger traced a path through the lines drawn on the map while the others watched attentively.

"He also said it would be the most difficult part of the journey," said Helmut softly. The others glanced at him but said nothing. It didn't matter how difficult it would be, they had no other options.

"All right," said LeBeau folding up the map. "Let's go. We have no time to waste if are to make it to the rendezvous in time, and I for one, do not wish to stay here any longer than I have to!"

They gathered up their supplies then gathered around Jan's body saying nothing. LeBeau found a scrap of paper in his pack and wrote down Jan's name and the date. He paused then added, "He died to save others" then folded the paper and carefully placed it in Jan's pocket. Then, without discussion they carefully covered his body with stones. LeBeau couldn't bear the thought of the brave Polish miner being eaten by the rats infesting the tunnel. The man could have refused their request to lead them through the mines but he hadn't and now he had paid the ultimate price for his unselfishness. It was a terrible loss. When they were done, they stood silently for a few moments as they honored their fallen comrade then silently, they turned and continued their way up the tunnels praying Jan's map would still save them.

The next twenty-four hours went by in a blur. None of the men were in good shape now but they struggled on knowing that if they could only find the exit, they would be free. Even if they missed the rendezvous, Newkirk still felt they would somehow make it home. He just prayed that no more were lost along the way. He continued to worry about LeBeau. It was obvious Louis was suffering from a nasty headache but he never complained. Newkirk did his best to keep an eye on him but he was just barely keeping himself in motion.

They had stopped to rest and eat something after an especially grueling couple of hours making it across a large abyss when Newkirk realized something felt different. He frowned, trying to figure out what it was when he realized the air smelled different, fresher with a hint of pine. He climbed to his feet, breathing deeply then turned to the others with a big grin, "Do y'smell it!" he asked excitedly. "It's fresh air, mates! We're almost there!"

The others stared at Newkirk in confusion for a moment then also inhaled deeply. Abruptly, they all began to laugh. "Mon Dieu," breathed LeBeau grabbing Newkirk's shoulder, "We have done it!"

Franz leaped to his feet in boyish delight and ignoring his exhaustion turned and scurried up the tunnel trying to find the source of the fresh air. Then he saw it, perhaps a hundred feet ahead of him - the light at the end of the tunnel. He could tell it was night but soft glow of the moonlight was more than enough to light his way. His heart was beating wildly with excitement as he ran the rest of the way. He knew he should turn back and wait for the others but he was so desperate to get out of the suffocating confines of the mine, he simply didn't care. _They had made it! _

He staggered to a stop at the opening of the cave and stared out cautiously. The opening was partially obscured by brush but he could see that they had come out on the side of the mountain. The air was cold and clean and he felt a joyous rapture he could never have described. For the first time in two years, he was finally _free_ and nothing could destroy that. Nothing, until the crack of gunfire split the night in two.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N I am now posting the final couple of chapters of the story and I want to thank everyone for their support, reviews, comments and ideas. This was my first attempt at HH fiction and I enjoyed it immensely. So, who knows? Maybe there will be more in the future. Again, thanks to all of you have taken the time to read my story and I hope you enjoy the rest.

**CHAPTER 23**

"Franz!" gasped Helmut leaping to his feet and pounding towards the exit. He never even heard the cries of Newkirk and LeBeau telling him to wait. Franz was all he had left in the world and Helmut would die if anything happened to his one remaining son. Like Franz, he could see the tunnel opening glowing ahead but this time, as he stumbled to a halt, he could make out a figure silhouetted against the moonlight. There was no mistaking the shape of the coal scuttle helmet or the barrel of a sub-machine gun slung across the soldier's chest. Helmut could see the figure was bending over something on the ground and although it was too dark to make out what it was, Helmut had no doubt it was Franz. Helmut froze undecided. If he continued on, the soldier would undoubtedly shoot him as well, and he would be of no use to his son. He turned as Newkirk and LeBeau quietly hurried up beside him. They all quickly extinguished their headlamps before the soldier noticed them. They knew that the tunnel would be completely black to the soldier and he didn't seem to have noticed them yet.

Newkirk gritted his teeth trying to fight the impulse to simply charge down the tunnel and kill the soldier, however he knew full well he'd be dead before he made it more than ten feet. So, for the moment they waited, trying to assess the situation. Were there more soldiers or did this one just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Newkirk rather doubted that. His suspicions were confirmed when a short while later, a couple more soldiers and an officer appeared. The officer knelt down by the form on the ground then stood up quickly peering down the tunnel. He pulled out a flashlight but its beam barely penetrated the murky depths of the tunnel.

"Helmut Zimmer! Corporal Newkirk!" called a cold voice that created a knot of fear in Newkirk's stomach. "I know you are in there. The boy is still alive but unless you reveal yourselves and anyone else with you, I will kill him. You know I will do this. You have two minutes."

Newkirk could hear Helmut cursing furiously in German. There was no doubt who the officer was. How Reinhardt had located them, Newkirk had no idea, but he did know that if there was a way, he would personally kill that Nazi bastard before he'd let them take him again. He had no doubt Helmut felt the same. He suddenly became aware of LeBeau tugging on his sleeve then felt something cold and hard slapped into his hand. It was a gun. Grimly, LeBeau met his eyes then turned to hand one to Helmut.

"He knows Helmut and me are 'ere," whispered Newkirk urgently, "But he doesn't know about you, Louis. If we have to, we can tell 'im Jan was our guide but got killed in the cave-in but you need to stay outta sight . They won't expect us to be armed so we can get at least a couple 'o them before they know what's happenin' but we _won't_ let 'em take us again!"

LeBeau looked grim and Helmut was becoming increasingly frantic but there was no time for futher planning. Newkirk turned to the German. "We don't know for sure that Franz is still alive," he said softly. "You know Reinhardt, he'd tell us anything to get us to come out. If we let 'em take us, we're all dead." Helmut opened his mouth to reply then stopped. He nodded in resignation. He knew even if they surrendered, it wouldn't save his son. They had no other choice but to attack and hope they weren't all killed in the process. It was quickly decided that Newkirk and LeBeau, being trained soldiers, would take the lead with Helmut close behind. If they were forced to surrender, only Newkirk and Helmut would come forth.

"Your time is up, gentlemen," called Reinhardt calmly. Newkirk then heard the chilling sound of a gun being cocked.

"Don't shoot!" cried Newkirk loudly. "We're comin'!" He had his own gun clutched firmly in his hand. They would have to make their move before they became visible to the Germans or the soldiers would see the weapons.

"Then come!" barked Reinhardt and he signaled two of the soldiers to advance into the tunnel. Newkirk cursed softly. He'd hoped they'd all stay near the tunnel entrance. Well, there was nothing to be done about it, they would simply have to work more quickly. Newkirk and LeBeau began to move swiftly down the tunnel. "Go for the two in the tunnel," Newkirk muttered to Louis, "I'll aim for the two by the mouth." LeBeau grunted in response. Newkirk glanced at Helmut, just a few feet behind, his gun held at the ready. Only Helmut's eyes were visible through the thick layer of coal dust and dirt that coated their skin and clothing. Newkirk knew they would be almost invisible in the velvety gloom of the tunnel. That would be in their favor. As they began to move, the three men stayed as near to the sides of the narrow passageway as possible figuring the soldiers were more likely to shoot down the center.

They ducked behind a couple of large boulders as the soldiers cautiously approached, then with the smallest of nods, Newkirk signaled LeBeau to fire. The darkness of the tunnel was suddenly ablaze with gunfire as the two began firing. LeBeau hit the two closest to them before the ambushed soldiers could get off a single shot and although Newkirk picked off the soldier standing nearest Reinhardt, the Gestapo agent had disappeared outside the tunnel entrance. Newkirk's blood was boiling now. He leapt to his feet and began charging down the passageway. He was vaguely aware of the sound of more gunfire and winced as a bullet passed uncomfortably near his head, but he could think of nothing else but his target. Newkirk burst through the brush partially covering the tunnel entrance and suddenly found himself sliding down a steep, rocky slope. Finally stumbling to a stop and panting heavily in the cold night air, he searched around wildly for Reinhardt.

"_Corporal Newkirk_." Newkirk whirled to find himself face to face with the Nazi, a gun aimed squarely at Newkirk's chest. "Please drop your gun. _Now!_" Reinhardt's face was pale in the moonlight and he seemed to be having trouble breathing as he cooly watched Newkirk drop the gun to the ground. It was then Newkirk noticed the dark circle slowly expanding across the German's shoulder. "I should have killed you when I found you at the Zimmer's farm," grunted Reinhardt, his eyes glittering with hatred.

Newkirk's mind began to work hard, hoping to buy time allowing Louis to find him. "Like you killed Manfred?" he spat, taking a chance that the name would mean something to the Nazi. Reinhardt's face went very still, the only sign of surprise was the slight narrowing of his eyes.

"What do you know of Manfred?" demanded the Captain, he voice dangerously soft. Newkirk swallowed as he noted the tightening of Reinhardt's hand on his gun.

Carefully, Newkirk reached into his pocket and pulled out the ID tag he had taken from the corpse in the tunnel. Reinhardt's face went even paler as he stared at the tag in Newkirk's outstretched hand. "Found this on a body in the tunnel, din't I? Says 'Manfred Reinhardt' and must say, mate, you were the first one I thought of as most likely to send 'is family to the mines. Who was 'e? Father? Brother? P'raps your dear son?"

"_Shut up!_" screamed Reinhardt striking Newkirk viciously across the face with his gun knocking the surprised Englishman to the ground. "_He was no son of mine!_ He was a _traitor_ to the Third Reich! He was helping scum like you, enemies of the Führer and he should have been _shot! _I was too soft on him and gave him a chance to live, as I did you. And I have regretted both decisions ever since."

Wiping the blood from his lip, Newkirk glanced at the gun still held firmly in Reinhardt's trembling hand. Would he have enough time to retrieve his own weapon and shoot before Reinhardt could pull trigger? His mouth was dry as he evaluated the distance to the gun lying several feet away but even if he was killed, he'd sure as hell try and take that bastard with him. Without thinking, Newkirk quickly dived sideways and feeling the cold metal in his hand, raised his gun and pulled the trigger. Reinhardt's eyes widened briefly in surprise then he began to laugh as the impotent click of the gun told them both all they needed to know. Newkirk's gun was empty.

"Even when I am wounded and standing three feet in front of you, you still cannot defeat me," Reinhardt chuckled, his face harder than ever. Waving his gun, he indicated Newkirk should get to his feet. "You are as weak as Manfred. If he had killed me when he had had the chance, we would not now be having this conversation. Now I shall do what I should have done all along." The explosion was deafening and Newkirk staggered back a few feet, a sharp pain exploding in his side. For a moment, the world was nothing but a blur of white-hot agony but the echoing report of a second shot brought him back to his senses. Hunched against the pain, Newkirk stared in shock as Reinhardt, his eyes wide in disbelief, slowly crumpled to the ground. Newkirk turned, looking for the source of the gunshot. Several feet away, gun in hand, stood Helmut Zimmer, his drawn face a mask of hatred. Newkirk met Zimmer's eyes and a moment of understanding passed between them. Newkirk had wanted to be the one to kill the bastard, but looking at Helmut, he knew the German farmer had a far greater reason for hating the Gestapo agent than even Newkirk. Zimmer deserved to be the one to deliver the killing blow.

Newkirk looked back down at Reinhardt. The dead German's eyes were glazing over in death and Newkirk gave him one hard kick. "But you still got what you bloody well deserved, you son of a bitch," Newkirk snarled. Breathing heavily, he stood silently for a moment, barely noticing the warm liquid soaking his shirt. It was over. Reinhardt was dead and could no longer hurt anyone. Newkirk peered back up the hill and noticed Helmut was gone. With one last hate-filled glance at the body before him, Newkirk turned and struggled to make his way back up the hill.

Panting and feeling nauseous, Newkirk stumbled to where Helmut and LeBeau now huddled over Franz's still form. Newkirk didn't want to look. He couldn't bear the thought of Helmut losing the last of his family especially when they were so close to freedom. He took a deep breath and with a huge surge of relief found Franz, though pale and in obvious pain, grinning weakly up at him.

"The bullet passed through his side," said LeBeau quietly as he helped Helmut to staunch the flow of blood. "It does not look like it hit any vital organs but he has lost a lot of blood. We must get him to help as soon as we can." He now looked at Newkirk and his eyes widened as he took in his friend's appearance. "You have been hit!"

Dumbly, Newkirk looked down at his side at a patch of blood now staining his shirt and frowned. "I think 'e just nicked me." Suddenly, his head began to spin and he could feel his knees begin to buckle.

LeBeau got to his feet and quickly helped Newkirk to the ground. He deftly unbuttoned Newkirk's shirt to examine the wound. He sighed in relief. Newkirk was right. The bullet had made a deep furrow in the flesh of Newkirk's waist; painful no doubt, but fortunately not serious. "Ah, bien," he grinned looking into Newkirk's weary gaze. "You are right. I will patch you right up. Anything for attention, eh mon ami?" Newkirk gave a weak laugh as he glanced over towards Franz and Helmut. Helmut looked up and met his gaze with an exhausted smile.

As LeBeau began to dig out some more supplies from his pack, he glanced at his watch and grinned. "We made it here to the rendezvous with two hours to spare, mes amies! If the Underground keep their word, they should be here at midnight and you, messieurs, will be finally free!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Colonel!" Kinch burst out of the secret entrance to the emergency tunnel, a piece of paper clutched in his hand as Carter and Hogan looked up in surprise. Hogan felt his body go cold. Only one thing could get Kinch this excited: word on Newkirk and LeBeau had finally come through. He hesitated for a moment before reaching for the paper Kinch held out to him. "They made it!" Kinch exclaimed, unable to contain himself any longer. "LeBeau did it! He found Newkirk and got him out!"

Carter let out a whoop of delight as a number of the other prisoners in the barracks joined in. Hogan grinned happily but his smile faded as he read the entire message. "Jan Lewandowski didn't make it," he said quietly.

Carter blinked in surprise then stopped his cheering. "Aw, no, Colonel! That can't be right!" he said in dismay peering over Hogan's shoulder at the dispatch.

Hogan nodded sadly. "He didn't want to go back to Poland but went anyway. He was a true hero." Hogan sighed fighting down the feelings of guilt that were now emerging. He was the one that had convinced Jan to lead LeBeau through the mines and now Jan was dead. It was one more life he would someday have to account for.

"Colonel," said Carter, his excitement returning. "When will they be back? I mean, they're comin' here, right?"

"According to this, we need to pick them up tomorrow night and it seems they aren't alone. Says here two others came with them."

"Then what, Colonel?" asked Kinch studying Hogan closely.

Hogan sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. "Well, we'll find out who these others are and probably send them on to London." He paused. "Newkirk too."

Kinch and Carter were silent for a few moments. "Isn't there anyway we can get Newkirk back, sir?" asked Carter quietly, knowing what the answer was likely to be.

Hogan shook his head. "Not with the way things stand now. Burkhalter signed Newkirk over to the Gestapo, and if Reinhardt knows Newkirk has escaped from the mines, you can be sure he'll be looking for him here. It would be safer for all of us if we just send Newkirk home. Now, LeBeau, is another matter. I'm sure we can get him back. Klink has been griping non-stop about not having access to a good cook. If LeBeau was to show up at the gate right now, believe me, Klink would be ecstatic."

"Me too," muttered Kinch thinking about the questionable meals they'd been forced to eat since LeBeau left. They would all be happy to have the little Frenchman back!

The next night, all three of them crouched in the bushes waiting for their Underground contact to bring the four escapees to them. It wasn't necessary that they all be there, but no one wanted to be left behind and miss the reunion. It was just past midnight when a car stopped a short distance down the road. A figure stepped out cautiously and blinked a flashlight three times. Kinch flashed his in response.

"Papa Bear?" came a soft voice.

Hogan and the others got to their feet. "Riding Hood?"

"Yes," she replied in relief. "We have your …packages." Hogan, Carter and Kinch hurried ahead as people began piling out of the car.

Hogan pulled up to halt as he picked out LeBeau and two unknown people. It took him a moment to realize the emaciated figure slowly emerging from the car was Newkirk. Kinch and Carter joined him, their mouths also agape in shock at the appearance of their comrade. Carter wasn't sure he would have recognized Newkirk if he hadn't known ahead of time who he was.

Newkirk glanced over towards the three from Stalag 13, then away. He suddenly felt very awkward. He knew he looked bad but until he saw their expressions he hadn't realized maybe just how bad he really looked. But, it was more than that. He had taken off against orders and although LeBeau claimed Hogan had forgiven him for that, Newkirk still felt uncomfortable.

"Colonel!" cried LeBeau happily hurrying towards his comrades. "We have returned! Mission completed! These fine fellows," he indicated the two figures standing awkwardly to one side, "are Helmut Zimmer and his son, Franz."

Hogan stopped his advance towards Newkirk and turned to look at the two strangers. One was an older man while the other a pale teenaged boy. They looked as frail as Newkirk. It only took Hogan a second to realize these must be the farmers whose family and farm had been destroyed by the Gestapo.

"Sir," said Helmut stepping forward and offering his hand. "On behalf of my son and myself, I wish to thank you for rescuing us. We would have died in that camp if your man had not come. I can never repay you or the family of the miner who died to rescue us."

Hogan smiled and shook the man's hand. "Herr Zimmer, from what I've been told, you sacrificed an awful lot to help Allied soldiers escape. I would say we were in your debt."

Helmut gave a small, sad smile. "Then, perhaps we should call it even."

Hogan nodded as Kinch and Carter began herding the group towards the woods. Newkirk stopped before him looking embarrassed. "Sir," he began uncertainly, "I…uh…" Hogan studied the man he hadn't seen in months. It hurt him deeply to see Newkirk looking so frail and beaten. He searched for any spark of the old Newkirk's irrepressible spirit but there was little behind those eyes beyond sheer exhaustion; exhaustion of both the body and the soul.

"C'mon, Newkirk," he said with a smile as he placed a hand on Newkirk's thin shoulder. "Let's get back to Stalag 13 and you can tell me all about it."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

As expected, Klink was absolutely delighted when LeBeau showed up at the gate the next morning asking to be taken back. He told Klink that a group of Underground people had ambushed the truck and freed the prisoners but then left them to fend for themselves and of course, LeBeau headed right home to Klink. Klink rescinded the transfer and would once again able to impress the brass with fine French cuisine.

Hogan had been immensely relieved when he'd learned of the death of Captain Reinhardt. The man had been a lingering threat hanging over their heads for far too long. He could tell the Gestapo agent's death had been even more important in helping Newkirk and the Zimmers move on. He didn't know everything that had befallen Newkirk, but Helmut Zimmer was able to fill in much of what had happened to the Englishman after he'd disappeared from camp all those months ago. It had been pretty horrific. Hogan knew he had to have some private words with Newkirk before he left for England.

A couple of days after his arrival at Stalag 13, Newkirk lay curled up on one of the cots in the escape tunnel, his eyes closed pretending to be asleep. He could hear Kinch nearby working on the radio. Kinch and Carter had seemed so happy to see him yet he'd see how horrified they'd been by his appearance. The first time he'd looked at himself in a mirror, he found he couldn't blame them. He sighed. He knew he'd been avoiding Colonel Hogan and the others despite their warm welcome.

"I know you're not asleep," came Kinch's soft voice. Newkirk opened his eyes to find the radioman now sitting close by observing him thoughtfully.

"How'd you know?" asked Newkirk, stiffly pushing himself into a sitting position.

"You weren't having any nightmares."

Newkirk winced. Fair enough. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept without being awakened by nightmares.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Newkirk said nothing for a very long time. "I dunno, Kinch," he said finally. "I wouldn't know where to begin. It's been one long bloody nightmare."

Kinch nodded. "It's OK, buddy," he said. "We're all here for you if you ever want to talk." He paused. "I'm really glad you're back, Newkirk. We all are." He stood, laid his hand on Newkirk's shoulder for a moment then returned to his work.

Newkirk blinked away the tears that had suddenly filled his eyes. He'd never been prone to crying but right now, he felt so weak and vulnerable. He'd been isolated from his mates at Stalag 13 for so long that he'd often wondered if there was any hope of reconciliation. Kinch's words meant more to him than the radioman would ever know. Newkirk closed his eyes again only this time, he slept a dreamless sleep.

When he awakened several hours later, Carter was sitting quietly nearby studying a chemistry book by the looks of it. Newkirk watched him for a few moments. Carter seemed so young compared to the others – a simple Midwestern farmboy with a penchant for chemicals and explosives. It was an odd combination. Carter suddenly looked up and met Newkirk's gaze with a happy smile.

"Hey, Newkirk," he said putting down his book. "How ya feelin'?" Newkirk again pushed himself up, wincing at the sharp pain in his side. He looked over and could see Helmut and Franz asleep some distance away.

"Right as rain, Andrew," replied Newkirk with a slight grin.

Carter said nothing for a minute as he solemnly regarded the man before him then shook his head. "Frankly, Newkirk, you look awful."

Newkirk's eyes widened in surprised than he began to laugh. "Well, Andrew, leave it to you to spell it all out." He closed his eyes for moment, feeling lightheaded. "But, truth is, I do look bloody awful. Feel awful too although p'raps a mite better than I did a few days ago in that ruddy tunnel. It's been a long road."

"I thought we'd never see you again," said Carter looking down at his book. "You know, somehow I always thought we'd all see the end of the war together. I guess I never figured any of us would get really hurt or, you know, killed." He now looked up at Newkirk, his eyes full of grief. "You don't know how hard it's been not knowin' if you were dead or alive. The Colonel was takin' it really hard, especially after we heard about the Zimmers. He blamed himself for you leavin'"

Newkirk stared at Carter, appalled at this information. "The Guv'nor's got no reason to feel responsible! It was all my doin'! I'm the one who made a right bloody mess of things! Starting at the very beginning with Gretel!" His head started throbbing as the memories of the past few months whirled through his brain. "If I'd done as ordered, none of this would have ever happened," he said miserably.

Carter looked sympathetically at his friend. "And Franz and his father would still be in that camp," he pointed out.

Newkirk said nothing. It was true. If he hadn't been sent to that labor camp, Franz and his father would probably have died there. But was it worth the loss of the rest of the Zimmer family? Newkirk's headache intensified. He had to stop going there! He hadn't killed Millie; that was Reinhardt's doing. Helmut didn't blame him so why couldn't he stop blaming himself?

"Newkirk," began Carter earnestly as he leaned in closer. "I know you think you screwed up and maybe you did. I don't know, but I do know you're one of us. It wasn't right here without you, and us not knowing what happened to you made it even worse. Then, when we found out you were in that labor camp, we wanted to go right out and rescue you like you woulda done for any of us!" He stopped looking slightly embarrassed. "I just wish you could stay here and not go back to London. I mean, I'm glad you'll be safe and have a chance to get well and everything …but…well, it just won't be the same."

Newkirk looked fondly at the young man beside him. "Thanks, Andrew. That means a lot to me, that does. More'n you can imagine." He shifted his position, trying to get comfortable. "Guess I wouldn't be much use to you the way I am now, though."

Carter frowned looking at Newkirk's thin, haggard face. Sgt. Wilson had come last night to examine LeBeau and the three escaped prisoners. The Polish doctor who had patched them all up had done a reasonably good job. LeBeau was fine but would have a bit of a scar. Franz, although sore and weak was recovering quickly as the young do. The medic had said nothing when he examined Newkirk's injuries, but the tightening of his jaw spoke volumes. Carter had heard him tell the colonel that the sooner they got Newkirk and the Zimmers to London the better.

"They're nothing but skin and bones,Colonel," Wilson had said shaking his head. "And Newkirk is in the worse shape of all. His back will never heal properly unless he has some decent food and proper medical attention. I don't understand how he managed to make it out of those mines much less all the way here!"

"Don't worry," Hogan had replied. "They'll be on their way to London by the end of the week." That had made Carter both relieved and sad. He knew Newkirk needed help and the only way he'd ever recover properly was to go back to England but still, he hated the thought that the cocky Englishman would be gone for good.

"Don't look so sad, Andrew," grinned Newkirk giving Carter a gentle shove. "Once I get back to London and back to me fightin' strength, I'll be doing my best to help you lot finish the war. Only this time, I'll be back in my plane droppin' bombs on the bloody Krauts." Carter grinned back but in his heart, he wondered if Newkirk would ever get back in the war.

Hogan finally found the right time to speak to Newkirk the night before he and the Zimmers were to leave. It was quiet in the escape tunnel. Kinch, Carter and LeBeau were all up in the barracks and the Zimmers had gone farther into the tunnels for some private time of their own. Newkirk sat at the small table in the escape tunnel idly dealing himself rummy hands when Hogan appeared before him. He hadn't even heard the colonel come down the ladder.

"Mind if I sit in?" asked Hogan pulling up a chair. Wordlessly, Newkirk dealt them both cards and for a few minutes, the two of them simply played.

"I really messed things up, didn't I, sir?" said Newkirk finally, not looking up from his hand. Hogan had noticed that Newkirk had a difficult time looking him in the eyes these days.

"Newkirk," sighed Hogan gently as he discarded a three of spades, "Yeah, you did mess up, but join the club. We've all made stupid mistakes in this war. I shoulda realized there was more to your story than you were tellin' me. If I had, I coulda probably prevented a lot of this."

Newkirk shook his head stubbornly. "No, sir. This was my mistake. I know deep down, I wasn't really responsible for the Zimmers' deaths but still, it's a hard thing to bear, if you get me meanin', sir. I feel maybe I've atoned a bit for that by helpin' to get Helmut and Franz out, but the thought of that little girl still eats at me." He stopped. Hogan felt his heart go out to him. Soldiers die all the time but Millie was an eleven year old child and her brother just a little older. They certainly didn't deserve their dreadful fate.

Hogan absently chose another card but his eyes never left Newkirk. "Newkirk, I would be more worried about you if Millie's death _didn't_ bother you! You and me and the others, we're soldiers. We know we could die; it's part of our job description, but what you saw at the Zimmer farm was murder. Pure and simple. Reinhardt didn't have to kill them. He _chose_ to do it. My guess is he was looking for any excuse and you just happened to be convenient. You'll never forget what happened and I'm not sure you should but you can't let it destroy you."

Newkirk picked up a card and stared at it sightlessly. He knew what the colonel said was true. Hadn't he told himself the same thing over and over again? It was going to take a lot of time before he ever felt comfortable with himself. He threw down the card. He swallowed nervously but this time he looked up meeting Hogan's gaze for the first time. "Sir, could…could you ever trust me again? I mean if it had been possible for me to stay?"

Hogan leaned back in his seat, his cards forgotten. "With my life, Newkirk. With my life."

**EPILOGUE**

It had been almost six months since Newkirk had been returned to England and in the beginning London sent Hogan the occasional update. Newkirk was recovering and the Zimmers had been given asylum so all was well. Hogan had asked the Underground to try and get a message to Jan's father, the Pole's only remaining relative. Sadly, Hogan was told the old man had died shortly after seeing his son that last time just before Jan had re-entered the mines. The men of Stalag 13 would be the only ones to mourn the brave miner's passing.

Hogan sighed deeply as his thoughts wandered to the mission they were planning for next week. They would be sabotaging a munitions train and he needed to check on Carter's work with the explosives. They would be trying out another new guy and so they would all need to be on their toes. As Hogan got to his feet and entered the barracks from his quarters, Kinch was just coming in through the front door. "Colonel, a few new prisoners just arrived. They must be from that plane that was shot down the other night north of Hammelburg. They're in Klink's office."

Hogan nodded. "Thanks, Kinch. I better go over and see what our beloved Kommandant is telling 'em."

He wandered across the compound enjoying the early autumn sun. It was a beautiful afternoon and some days it seemed hard to believe he was really a prisoner of war. He climbed the steps to the Kommandtur and stepped inside. Hilda, Klink's secretary looked up and beamed at him with her big blue eyes. He gave her a saucy grin. "Our glorious leader in?"

She giggled. "Ja, with the new prisoners." He nodded and stepped to Klink's office door and knocked, entering before Klink had time to respond.

Colonel Klink and Sgt. Schultz were standing side by side behind Klink's desk facing the four new prisoners. Both Germans were looking perplexed as they turned and noticed Hogan's entrance. "Colonel Hogan," began Klink glancing back at the prisoners. "We have a rather unusual situation here…" he trailed off.

Hogan frowned, uncertain what the problem was. "Sir?"

It was then that one of the new prisoners leaned forward, grinned at Hogan and said in a very familiar voice, "'ello, Guv'nor!" Hogan stared in shock, as flummoxed as the two Germans.

Newkirk had come home.

**THE END**


End file.
